Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Social Protest, Violence and Terror in Nineteenth - and Twentieth-Century Europe
Social Protest, Violence and Terror in Nineteenth - and Twentieth-Century Europe
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
and
Gerhard Hirschfeld
ISBN 978-1-349-16943-6
Contents
Notes on the Contributors and Editors
vii
Preface
ix
13
20
32
48
63
80
88
ll2
137
II
155
175
201
13
Contents
vi
14
Wi/fried Rohrich
246
Adrian Lyttelton
257
Jens Petersen
275
230
Gerhard Botz
300
David B. Southern
330
342
21
Index
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
367
384
405
Vlll
Professor F. F. Ridley
Professor Wilfried Rohrich
Dr Eve Rosenhaft
Dr David B. Southern
Professor Malcolm I. Thomis
Preface
The essays assembled in this volume originated from contributions to a
conference on 'Social Protest, Violence, Terror: Strategies of violence resorted
to by social and political fringe groups in the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries' which was arranged by the German Historical Institute and took
place from 15 to 17 November 1979 at the Wemer-Reimers-Stiftung in Bad
Homburg. The studies presented here are intended to give, as it were in a joint
venture, an assessment of the many political groups and movements which in
the course of the last one-and-a-half centuries- i.e. the time during which the
modem constitutional state emerged and the industrial revolution changed
society in an irreversible way- have resorted to means of violence and
individual terror in one way or another in order to press certain political or
economic demands upon reluctant governments, regardless of whether they
were authoritarian, constitutional or democratic; in some cases, strategies of
violence aimed even further, they were meant to pave the way for far-reaching
change and revolutionary upheaval. The field of enquiry covered by these
essays has been deliberately restricted to those cases where recourse to
violence and terror was taken in open revolt against an effective, though not
always sufficiently legitimate, governmental order. In other words, we are
concerned here with forms of violence and terror which operated or were,
from the vantage point of the established order, in deliberate violation of the
established legal system. We also deal only with groups or movements which
could or can count solely upon the support of marginal or, at best, small
groups within society. Accordingly revolutionary movements which enjoyed
massive popular support, e.g. the 1848 Revolution, have not been included in
this analysis, though, at various times and in various ways, they also resorted
to what must initially be considered as non-legal violence, and at times even
terror of some sort.
The spectrum of political groupings which at one time or another, under
specific historical conditions, resorted to strategies of violence and individual
terror, or even guerrilla war, must be considered extraordinarily wideranging. Contrary to currently fashionable beliefs, recourse to violence in
deliberate violation of the law, as well as of governmental authority, is a
widespread phenomenon throughout history. It can be argued that during the
last two centuries most European states gradually succeeded in eliminating
open, violent conflicts by opening up legal channels to solve them, thanks to
the development of a comprehensive legal system. In a way, the development
ix
Preface
Preface
XI
therefore, rightly called mere 'counter-violence'. This may be all the more so in
view of the fact that in very many cases the governments themselves had
recourse to strategies of violence and terror in order to defend themselves
against these forms of radical protest or revolutionary activity. Therefore,
some endeavour has been made to counterbalance this bias in the concrete
empirical analysis as much as possible. However, any other approach would
not have been able to identify the issues in question in a sufficiently clear way
and to describe them in operational terms.
This apart, we deliberately tried to analyse various forms of non-legal
violence or terrorism without giving primary consideration to the respective
ideologies. Violent movements with social, nationalist, proletarian or fascist
connotations are dealt with alongside one another with a view to bringing out
those features which they all have in common and also their interdependence.
The editors hope that these studies suggest a useful way of approaching the
problem. Thus the discussion about present-day forms of non-legal violence
and terror may be brought onto a more rational and, at the same time, a more
objective level.
At this point the editors should like to express their thanks to all those who
have made the publication of this volume possible, in particular the WemerReimers-Stiftung, without whose financial support and hospitality the
conference could not have taken place. We are particularly grateful to Dr v.
Krosigk, the Director of the Wemer-Reimers-Stiftung, and to Frau Sontgen
for all their efforts and for ensuring that the conference could be held in an
unusually pleasant atmosphere. Thanks are also due to the staff of the
German Historical Institute for their assistance, in particular to Mrs Jane
Rafferty. We should like to thank Mrs Elke Jessett and also Mr Stephen Conn
who translated the German texts.
1 Reflections on Political
Murder: Europe in
the Nineteenth and
Twentieth Centuries
Franklin L. Ford
For several years past, my research interests have centered on the place of
purposeful homicide in political history. As one who shares the ancient belief
that politics ought ideally to be identified with life, both of the polis and of its
individual members, I recognise the elements of anomaly implicit in this
sombre linkage. Nevertheless, the course of history does not permit us to
ignore the record of political murder as an aspect of individual and group
behavior affecting public affairs.
Such exploration, if it is to fulfil its purpose, must investigate settings,
motives, attempts at justification, and results both intended and actual, from
Biblical (indeed pre-Biblical) episodes, through classical formulations of
tyrannicide theory in Greco-Roman antiquity, all the way down to the place
occupied by other forms of assassination and terrorism in the annals of our
own era. Signs of concern for this chronological range will be found in the
present article, for instance in occasional allusions to eighteenth-century and
even earlier history, where they are needed to throw light upon more recent
developments. Still, the scholarly meeting which occasioned the remarks
to follow was focussed upon the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
Furthermore, the topic was effectively, if not quite explicitly, confined to the
European experience, inviting only the most selective references to the rest of
the world, including the United States.
That being so, let me at the outset acknowledge, and in so doing attempt to
minimise, the danger of historical narcissism. How special, it is only fair to
ask, how nearly unique in the story of the species, have Europe's latest two
centuries really been? To what extent do they constitute a segment of history
easy to distinguish from the rest of the long and complex stream of recorded
human experience? The late Carl Becker, a learned and sometimes quizzical
American student of the Old Regime, used to remind members of his seminar
that every historian has to weigh the choice between saying, when whatever
Franklin L. Ford
else he can think of has been said on a particular subject, that while the world
may change, it changes slowly, or that, while it may change slowly, it does
change. Becker would concede, of course, just in time to avoid overdrawing
the dilemma, that we generally end by saying both things; for both are true.
The matter of final emphasis, however, has always to be faced.
What about the topic now before us, when approached with this obligation
in mind? On balance, I find myself stressing the element of change, but there is
undeniably a balance to be struck. Take for example the numerical incidence
of political murder. In quantitative terms, based on the tabulation of episodes
involving lethal intent, not just public protest, the 150 years preceding the
1790s are easily distinguishable from the period which began with that decade.
This is not to minimise the importance of popular uprisings in the earlier age,
from the Cevennes under Louis XIV to Hungary and Transylvania under
Rakoczy, from Pugachev's Russia in the 1770s to the London of the Lord
Gordon riots in 1780. More to the present point, an awareness of subsequent
change does not require or even permit us to overlook scattered assaults upon
individuals, from the lynching of the brothers De Witt at The Hague in 1672 to
the attempts against the kings of France and of Portugal in 1757 and 1758,
respectively. All things considered, however, the list of political crimes under
the ancien regime seems very short. Its brevity alone points to another of those
somewhat puzzling moratoriums in political murder which in the more remote
past had characterised ancient Athens, the Roman Republic until late in its
history, and Europe's own 'high' middle ages. 1
There can be no denying -this much, I think, must be conceded to the
skepticism of Carl Becker -that some by no means insignificant lines of
continuity run straight through into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
The tradition of tyrannicide had never lost its fascination even for an
eighteenth century largely spared -or denied, depending on one's
preferences -the immediacy of contemporary examples; and it lived on
thereafter.lt inspired the use of'Sic semper tyrannis!' both by Felice Orsini on
trial at Paris in 1858 and by John Wilkes Booth seven years later, as he jumped
down onto the stage of the Ford Theatre in Washington after shooting
President Abraham Lincoln. It still inspired young Friedrich Adler, the killer
of Austria-Hungary's prime minister, Count Stiirg"kh, in 1916. Its influence,
including soul-searching over the willingness of the slayer to sacrifice himself
and over questions of the relationship between the motivation of the act and
its success or failure, permeates the debates among at least some of the
Germans who tried in 1944 to assassinate Adolf Hitler. 2
Mention of what is often, and altogether inadequately, referred to as the
'Beck-Goerdeler' conspiracy is a reminder of another important link connecting earlier and more recent history: the undiminished importance of elite
advantages, which is to say of official access and of social contact- 'he is
entitled to bear arms in the presence of the prince'- even in an age of
putatively democratic revolution. At the opposite pole from elaborate
conspiracies stands another familiar figure out of the past: the loner, the single
assassin who often affronts, even as he confounds, determinedly rational
analysts of aims and outcomes. David Hume in the eighteenth century
considered, I suspect fairly briefly, the murderer of the Duke of Buckingham
in the seventeenth and dismissed Captain John Felton as the possessor of 'a
dull, unsociable mind'. 3 Hume's terse description fits equally well a number of
later figures, ranging from Luigi Luccheni, who at Geneva in 1898 fatally
stabbed the elderly Empress of Austria (because his intended victim, the
French Due d'Orleans, had failed to turn up as expected), all the way to Lee
Harvey Oswald at Dallas in 1963.
These illustrations, combined with others that spring to mind, might
suggest continuity as the principal feature of our modern experience with
political murder. It seems to me, however, that what really confronts us here is
not so much continuity as an atavistic return to tendencies with which Europe
from the middle decades of the seventeenth century until the last of the
eighteenth had had remarkably little to do. I have in mind in particular the call
of religious faith, long muted but loud and clear once more as a part of Carl
Sand's resolve to stab Kotzebue to death at Mannheim in 1819. 4 In Father
Verger, who killed Archbishop Sibour of Paris in 1857 under the mistaken
impression that Sibour was deeply committed to Pope Pius IX's newly
enunciated dogma of the Immaculate Conception, the call was undiluted by
any other motive. 5 Even the would-be assassin of Napoleon at Schonbrunn in
1809, young Friedrich Stapps, whose act might seem an attempt at tyrannicide
in the classical mold, was the pious son of a Lutheran pastor in Naumburg and
seems to have considered himself a kind of Protestant Ravaillac, called into
action by God. 6
Yet despite the presence of these elements, I should still insist that the recent
history oflethal political gestures is dominated by novel characteristics. Take
the matter of weaponry. For about three hundred years after the first
assassinations employing firearms took place in the sixteenth century, there
was no more than a slow and uneven increase in the variety and power of
implements used for this purpose. The pistols fired at Prime Minister Perceval
as he prepared to enter the House of Commons in 1812 and at President
Andrew Jackson under the colonnade of the American capitol in 1835 were
only marginally different from those that had killed William the Silent at Delft
in 1584, and in the case of the assault on Jackson were notably inferior in
performance. 7 The unevenness of technological change is, I admit, revealed by
the fact that whereas high explosives begin to figure in projects as old as that of
Guy Fawkes in 1605, both poison and the dagger have remained popular with
their admittedly specialised clientele down to the present day.
These reminders of earlier means, however, should not obscure the degree
and rapidity of change. Encouraged by the military 'advances' made in two
World Wars, the high-powered rifle with its telescopic sight and the machine
gun or pistol capable of firing almost unbelievably rapid bursts have altered
Franklin L. Ford
the odds, as between attacker and victim, beyond comparison with those of an
earlier past. In the matter of explosives, pace Master Fawkes, it is difficult to
compare his barrels of black powder even with the fulminate of mercury used
in the hand bombs hurled at the coach of Napoleon III and Empress Eugenie
by Orsini and his accomplices outside the Paris Opera in 1858, or the
nitroglycerine grenades one of which killed Tsar Alexander II beside the
Catherine Canal in 1881. 8 Still more remote from earlier devices is the immensely powerful charge detonated by a delicate time mechanism or- as
appears to have occurred in the case of Lord Mountbatten's death aboard his
boat off the Irish coast in 1979 -set off by a radio signal from a safely hidden
operator or operators.
Another comparatively new aspect of political murder in modern times,
once perhaps classifiable as secondary but by now of central concern, is its
heavy reliance on publicity for full effect: Even in the eighteenth century,
needless to say, popular excitement surrounded if not always the trials at least
the executions ofDamiens in Louis XV's France and the Tavoras family and
their doomed collaborators in Pombal's Portugal. Not until the nineteenth
century, however, did the accused make purposeful use of their day in court to
glorify their own efforts and the principles for which they were prepared to
face personal extinction. One recalls Felice Orsini with Jules Favre for a
lawyer, 9 as well as Zhelyabov in particular among the Russians charged with
Alexander II's death. In our own day, the eagerness to 'claim credit' for what
on their face may seem cowardly slayings has come to be taken for granted as
intrinsic to the acts themselves.
More, of course, is involved in publicity than the perpetrators' wishes. At
least equally significant is the opportunity, rapidly increased by the march of
popular journalism, motion pictures, radio, and, above all, television.
Between the sympathetic (though still generally apologetic) treatment accorded the Jena student Sand by certain English works hastily published
within months of his murder of Kotzebue in 1819 10 and the live TV coverage of the tragedy at the Munich Olympic Games in 1972, the world has seen
the triumph of a new empire, that of 'media exposure'. With it has come the
assurance of quick and massive public attention paid to the deeds and the
claims of a new breed of political dramatist.
This suggests a connection with still another new element in political
violence as it is encountered in modern times: the explicit appeal through the
individual act, the geste, for some general demonstration of support, ideally
culminating in popular revolution. Nothing, I submit, is more indicative of the
special quality of nineteenth- and twentieth-century European notions of
insurgency than the hope of achieving revolutionary ends by translating a
specific attack on an individual target into the signal for mass action. It is a
hope of astounding vitality, given the fact that it has never, to my knowledge,
been fulfilled or everr come very close to realisation. In a strange way, it
combines both romantic and classical notions of the 'Great French
Revolution', rather like Delacroix's vision of what things are like at the
barricades.
Here again, one might argue that the tactic of action is not wholly modem.
Some earlier assassins, in killing Julius Caesar, for example, or King Gustaf
III of Sweden in 1792, may well have hoped to trigger 'revolution' understood
simply as the overturning of a regime and with it some undesired policies.
However, each of these assaults was essentially an elite action, undertaken by
a restricted circle of senators or titled aristocrats or some other category of
highly placed dissidents. Something very different, I suggest, was implied by
the 'spark-on-tinder' theory of an Orsini arguing (in devotion to Bakunin)
that revolutions all across Europe hungered for ignition and that Paris was
demonstrably the best place in which to ignite them. Narodnaya Volya's
zealots appear to have shared that vision as they 'discussed the killing of an
admittedly rather inoffensive Tsar Alexander II and dreamt of uprisings in All
the Russias.
The reader must now, I think, be asked to accept a shift of emphasis. For the
most part the pages immediately preceding have concentrated on some
continuities, some reversions, and most important in the present context,
some new departures as seen against the background of history prior to the
nineteenth century. The center of attention has been the relationship between
selected features of the past (almost) two hundred years and certain older
characteristics of European history. What remains is to look if only briefly at
these latest centuries in particular, asking how much change has occurred
within the period they constitute. Hand in hand with that question goes a
related one, namely, how much internal periodisation can usefully be imposed
upon that time span.
From what has already been said, it should be clear that I have difficulty
with the concept of just one 'rebellious century' embodied in the book
published under that title by Charles, Louise, and Richard Tilly. 11 This is not
to deny the value of their effort or of the challenges they direct at certain wellknown approaches to the history of collective violence - Durkheim's
'breakdown thesis' for example. Let me also concede in fairness to the Tillys
that mass behaviour is indeed what particularly interests them and that their
arguments have been marshaled with an eye to manifestations often quite
distinct from the individual or small-group actions toward which my own
inquiries have been directed. Nevertheless, to the extent that our interests do
overlap, it strikes me that a time span beginning in 1830 and ending in 1930 is
at once too neat, too short, and, at least inferentially, too 'flat', that is to say,
too undifferentiated internally. The expanse of history prior to 1830 cannot,.I
think, be quite so easily dismissed -seventeenth-century uprisings come
particularly to mind, as do earlier nineteenth-century demonstrations of, to
take an obvious example, Luddite violence in England. By the same token,
although the record of more or less liberal national societies in the 1920s does
indeed differ from that of an increasing number of authoritarian states in the
Franklin L. Ford
1930s so far as popular rebellion is concerned, I doubt that we can justify tying
everything after 1930 off from the events of late nineteenth- and earlier
twentieth-century history.
Instead of one rebellious century, therefore, I envisage a rather longer
period, extending from the early 1790s to the present and subdivided by
important changes most clearly discernible in the fateful decade of the 1920s.
Up to this point, be it repeated, my emphasis has fallen upon elements which
characterise the entire stretch of nearly two hundred years since the
assassinations of Gustaf III and Marat and the institutionalisation of the
French revolutionary Terror. Hence there really is a change of standpoint
implied by now raising the question: how different, and in what ways different,
from that of the immediately preceding era has the European record of
political murder been since the First World War? To what extent, in terms of
political homicide, did an older Europe begin after the First World War to
transform itself into something definably 'different'?
As was true of the nineteenth century, so in the case of European history
covering the past sixty years, there are plenty of incidents which may recall
familiar models. The striking concentration of Bulgarian assassinations in the
1920s, for example, followed closely a pattern of homicide established in that
country by the 1890s at the latest. There was even a bizarre strain of
generational repetition: in 1924 one of the Agrarian Party's most prominent
members, Petkov, was killed in a Sofia Street almost precisely as his father had
been before him in 1907. 12 Elsewhere, themurder of Matthias Erzberger in
1921 while strolling along a Black Forest path recalled nineteenth-century
episodes including not only the Phoenix Park murders in Dublin but also
attacks upon Kaiser William I and upon Bismarck in the Tiergarten. And
certainly the shooting of King Alexander of Yugoslavia and Foreign Minister
Louis Barthou as they drove in an open car through Marseille in 1934 was
eerily deja vu for anyone who remembered -as who did not? -the bullets of
Sarajevo twenty years before.
Beginning with the 1920s, however, there were signs that a new and in this
regard by no means welcome world was aborning. For one thing, the
frequency of assassination attempts and of resulting 'political' trials increased
so sharply, compared to their incidence during the preceding half-century,
that we have little choice but to see in the figures proof of something more than
just a change in degree. The chronological and geographical tables compiled
in the course of my own work reveal that between 1851 and 1900- itself quite
a busy period for European assassins- there were attacks, either actually or
potentially fatal, on a total of about forty prominent Europeans, including
Russians and also including as a single case Vaillant's bombing of the French
Chamber of Deputies in 1893. Applying the same criteria to the years 1919-28
inclusive (the same even to the counting of another bombing, Sofia's in 1924,
as a single case), one arrives at a total of fifty-four assaults. However crude
such measurements must remain, this increase from an average of less than
one attempt per year for half a century before 1900 to an average of more than
five per year throughout the decade beginning in 1919 surely deserves serious
attention.
It should be pointed out that commencing the above count in 1919 and not
in the shambles of 1918 excludes from the reckoning such events as the killing
of the Tsar, his family, and twelve other Romanovs in Russia, the death of
Germany's ambassador Count Mirbach in Moscow, and the attack upon
Lenin there on 30 August 1919, a day which also saw the death by
assassination of M. Uritsky, head of the Cheka in Petrograd. Similarly
excluded are the murders of the Hungarian premier Count Tisza and
Portugal's President Sidonio Pais. I have, in short, made no effort to 'pad' the
post-war figures.
Before leaving the realm of statistics, it may be useful to consider another
difference between Europe before and Europe after the Great War which can
be shown only through recourse to quantification. Most observers, myself
definitely included, have tended to accept without much argument the
generalisation that the years just preceding Tsar Alexander II's assassination
in 1881 were for Russia a time of massive repression, at once responding to
and further inciting massive terrorist resistance. As a matter of fact, there were
no more than a half-dozen serious attacks on high officials other than the
Emperor throughout the five supposed peak years 1878-82. As for judicial
action we find that according to the underground's own count, as shown by
figures printed in the Calendar of the People's Will ( Narodnaya Volya), 13
those years witnessed a total of 72 trials involving 397 defendants and
resulting, when they ran to completion at all, in 19 sentences of imprisonment,
159 of forced labour (generally in Siberia), 57 of exile, 52 acquittals, and 31
death penalties carried out. Of the executions, five in 1881 and one in 1882
stemmed directly from Alexander's assassination. Now these figures unquestionably bespeak a great deal of individual suffering. They are not,
however, very startling, especially when set against the imagined slaughter
evoked by populist folklore or against the actual records of Lenin's, Stalin's,
Hitler's, and other regimes in our own century.
The increased volume of violence in twentieth-century Europe does not
alone represent all dimensions of the change from older patterns. The briefest
look at the rest of the world will show such patterns spreading even as they
changed, especially in the aftermath of the Second World War. That
extension- not just to the United States, which had already by the 1860s
entered the world history of assassination with bloody emphasis- began
increasingly to assume the proportions of a global epidemic. European styles
of political warfare, with their accompanying rhetoric, seemed everywhere to
encroach upon the once differing mores of the Middle East, the Far East,
Africa, all of them, be it said, long endowed with their own traditions in this
regard.
The imitation of European models might have produced at least one
Franklin L. Ford
advantage for the historian: to wit, a reduction in the sheer variety of motives
and acts encountered on the world stage. But no such simplification has in fact
occurred. Instead, there has been a marked proliferation of 'causes', that is to
say, of the grievances, demands, and visions cited by exponents of political
violence as worth killing and, if need be dying, for. Throughout much of
previous history, religion offered about the only such cause (dynastic and
other forms of elite rivalry having had no claim to, and apparently little need
for, transcendent justification). Even nineteenth-century assassins, when they
did not still revert to religious sanctions, seldom offered any alternatives going
beyond patriotic or populist slogans.
By contrast, political murder in our own era has put forward a greatly
expanded shopping list of motives, some old, some new, and some
amalgamated: religious, pseudo-religious, libertarian, nihilistic, anti-colonial,
Marxist, anti-Marxist, meta-Marxist, volkisch, Maoist, and at times, one is
tempted to conclude, simply purgative for the individual doing the deed. This
last category is, alas, not fanciful. Only a few years ago, after a peculiar lady
had fired several shots at the then President of the United States, I heard a
noted psychologist say, with all professional solemnity, that 'unfortunate as
her action had been, it probably constituted the first clear statement she had
ever been able to make'.
It is, I think, a waste of time to argue with self-justificatory statements which
seek to explain murder, even random murder, as 'the only course open' to
protestors who naturally claim the right to combat 'injustice' by any and all
means. There is, however, some reason to pause over this insistence on having
one's own way, whatever the cost to other people, as a further indication of
change in the patterns of violence grown prevalent in the twentieth century.
This is not to say that 'claiming credit' for assassination was unknown in the
nineteenth century, as various publications and courtroom speeches attest.
Nevertheless -and apart from the fact that killing innocent bystanders
did seem to worry the Russian revolutionaries of Vera Figner's
generation -explicit repudiation of many acts of lethal violence remained
characteristic of numerous oppositional spokesmen. German Social
Democrats, even while outlawed as a party in Bismarck's Reich, repeatedly
condemned terrorism. Not surprisingly, they showed themselves still
quicker, once they had recovered legal status, to condemn such murders as
that of the Empress Elizabeth in 1898. The same could have been said of
practically the entire political spectrum of editorial opinion to be found in
European newspapers before 1918.
At this point, of course, criticism of 'legal opposition' and of its selfimposed limits is sure to be expressed. The evaluation of such complaints,
however, is not central to my own position here. What is central is the evidence
of change, the reflection that it would have been virtually unthinkable for a
pre-war reader to have opened his morning paper to any such editorial as
appeared in Germany's nationalist 0/etzkoer Zeitung on the day following
10
Franklin L. Ford
in the state. Lenin's, Stalin's, and Hitler's methods of rule, however different
their announced philosophies may have been, were related in that they
showed clearly what the new tyrants had learned during their days in
opposition- not so much from their own difficulties, which were slight
compared with what their later opponents had to face, as from the contempt
they appear to have conceived for the failures of will, of vigilance, and of
ingenuity shown by the regimes they had themselves succeeded in
overthrowing. Few if any historic revolutions, of course, whether violent or
ostensibly 'legal', have brought with them any reduction in previous levels of
police power. By the same token, without the schooling in conspiracy required
to survive underground in rebellion against governments disposing of the
Nazi Sicherheitsdienst or comparable agencies, World War Il's 'resistance
tradition' would offer present-day terrorists little beyond a lingering aura of
heroic resolve. Instead, the wartime Resistance has provided a variety of
organisational models and tactical lessons, as well as a number of spurious
parallels. It is in this sense that the escalation of political violence in our
century may be said to display a dialectical quality in which anti-liberalism has
supplied perhaps the only constant, apart from techniques themselves.
The progress of a corresponding exchange of tactics and of battle cries, as
between right and left, between 'forces of order' and 'forces of freedom', may
be less readily acknowledged by either side; but it is scarcely less significant
than that between violent regimes and violent opposition. By the end of the
nineteenth century, there appeared to be a very good chance that Europe's
democratic socialists, having lately demonstrated their growing electoral
power, might in fact achieve what had once been viewed as revolutionary aims
by legal, i.e., parliamentary means. There was already, however, some reason
to fear that unabashed reactionaries would henceforth be the political actors
most likely to resort to extra-legal, increasingly anti-constitutional, and
ultimately violent means. That forecast was to prove remarkably accurate
when tested against developments in Italy, Germany, and elsewhere after
1918. For whatever confusion may persist concerning the 'rightist' and 'leftist'
features of the congeries of national movements we call fascist, all of them
were explicitly counter-revolutionary, anti-Marxist, and ostentatiously, not
to say lethally, violent. 'Right-wing revolution' became a familiar term in our
own century's vocabulary.
What I suppose could hardly have been so shrewdly predicted was still a
further development: the emergence of an increasingly authoritarian left,
some of whose spokesmen claim a Marxist, others only an anarchist identity,
while both borrow heavily from what older leftists would have called rightwing, ultra-nationalist, and above all fascist applications of political
terrorism. That is not, I need hardly say, to deny that many, probably most,
people who think of themselves as 'progressives' today still repudiate such
terrorism as a betrayal of the humanitarian tradition. It is, however, to insist
that the audible tribunes of Germany's Rote Armee Fraktion, Italy's brigate
11
rosse and numerous parallel formations inside Europe and out, invoke leftist
ideals while at the same time employing tactics chillingly reminiscent of the
Organisation Consul's war against Weimar democracy.
As I have remarked in the course of my argument, reflections confined to
political murder cannot claim, and should not seek, to explore all the issues,
both pragmatic and ethical, which are raised by debate over political violence
defined in the most general terms. Even with respect to the possible paradox
identified at this paper's beginning, it is quite apparent that death, whether it
results from disease or accident or malice aforethought, is an ever-present
factor in politics, an uncontrollable variable to be reckoned with there as in
every other activity to which mortals set their hands. The question nevertheless remains: does purposeful homicide deserve to be treated as an acceptable,
because familiar, feature of political life? Or should it not be more accurately
described as an obstacle to the rational conduct of human affairs, and its
perpetrators labeled accordingly?
NOTES
l.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
ll.
12.
F. L. Ford, 'Assassination in the Eighteenth Century: The Dog That Did Not
Bark in the Night', Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 120 (1976),
pp. 211-15.
While a political intelligence officer in Germany in 1945, assigned to an
investigation of 20 July, I was struck by the remarkable variety of motives which
informed the conspiracy behind the bomb attempt at Rastenburg. My impressions and necessarily fragmentary findings appeared as an article, 'The Twentieth
of July in the History of the German Resistance', The American Historical Review
51 (1946), pp. 609-26.
D. Hume, The History of England new ed., vol. v (Boston, 1849-50) p. 48.
C. E. Jarcke, Carl Ludwig Sand und sein, an dem kaiserlich-russischen Staatsrath v.
Kotzebue veruebter Mord. Eine psycho/ogisch-criminalistische Eroerterung aus der
Geschichte unserer Zeit (Berlin, 1831).
R. L. Williams, Manners and Murders in the World of Louis-Napoleon (Seattle/
London, 1975) pp. 44--67.
P. Liman, Der politische Mordim WandelderGeschichte(Berlin, l912)pp.l5l-3.
Prime Minister Perceval was shot to death in 1812 by John Billingham just
outside the chamber of the House of Commons. The two pistols used against
President Andrew Jackson by Richard Lawrence in 1835 both misfired at pointblank range.
M. StJohn Packe, The Bombs at Orsini (London, 1957); and R. Hingley, Nihilists.
Russian Radicals and Revolutionaries in the Reign of Alexander II, 1855--81
(London, 1967).
G. L. Chaix-d'Est-Ange, Discours et plaidoyers, vol. I (Paris, 1862) pp. 403-70.
See for example the anonymous Memoir of L. Sand: Including a Narrative of the
Circumstances Attending the Death of Augustus von Kotzebue [and] A Defense of
the German Universities (London, 1819).
C., L., and R. Tilly, The Rebellious Century, 1830-1930 (Cambridge, Mass.,
1975).
New York Times, 16 June 1924.
12
Franklin L. Ford
13.
14
Eric J. H obsbawm
the first black era of mass political assassination, but also he suggests that
there is a major difference between the time before 1914 when even the
terrorists, or a lot of them, attempted to confine their violence within the
moral framework of the rationalist enlightenment or perhaps just the ancient
conventions society actually gives to violence, and our era when these limits
are no longer accepted. I hasten to add, they are accepted as little by states and
governments as by their opponents. I recall that Friedrich Engels was
outraged by the Irish in the 1880s killing bystanders. Even revolutionaries, he
believed, behaved like soldiers and killed only people actually fighting
against them. The Narodnaya Vo/ya was, as Ford suggests, worried about
killing the innocent. It shows how desperate, and incidentally ineffective, the
attempts of the social revolutionaries were to impose limits on terrorism or
expropriation, and indeed it is extremely clear to anyone who works on topics
like expropriation, how worried people were about limiting and legitimising
these activities and fitting them into what was still believed to be a system of
generally valid moral imperatives. Today it is the innocent who are the real
and often intended victims. But this is not merely the signature of fringe
groups. After all in modem mass war, certainly in the Second World War, a
great deal of the strategy was deliberately aimed at the innocent, those who
were not fighting rather than those who were fighting. Here we might consider
the role of the two World Wars which were essentially machines for
indiscriminate massacre or the massacre of people defined as groups
irrespective of their attitudes and attributes. And it may be worth considering
the role of these wars in the change of this moral climate.
Thirdly, Ford suggests the left learns from the experience of repression by
states- and here perhaps the experience of the Paris commune of 1871 might
have been mentioned -and of states tolerating terror by the right- free corps,
fascists and so on - to fight in tum to the bitter end in order to survive. In tum,
as Ford himself points out, the most extreme governments, the most repressive
governments, whether ofleft or right, are those which emerge from resistance
movements or direct action movements, and are thus trained in the experience
of fighting to the bitter end against what they believe to be irreconcilable and
relentless enemies. These I take it are the main points made here and they are
in themselves interesting. It seems to me nevertheless that if we are to discuss
the narrow problems thus posed we still have to situate them. I should like, not
so much to situate them as briefly to consider some problems of situating
them. The first is that we have to distinguish two things, the violence of
marginal groups and the violence which is built into state, class struggle, or if
you prefer, social relations in general. Now the violence of marginal groups is
overwhelmingly symptomatic rather than effective. We can discuss under
what circumstances it could achieve concrete results, of which incidentally by
far the most likely historically has been to create effective counter-violence.
No doubt we can also discuss under what conditions it is positively successful,
insofar as its objects could be formulated in terms of achievable ends.
15
Nevertheless, as Ford points out, the most usual rationalisation of smallgroup terrorism, namely that it will set off major mass actions by its example
or by its stimulus, has never been fulfilled or even come close to realisation. In
short a great deal of this kind of violence makes no sense, as it were, by being
analysed as a goal-oriented activity today. We could argue about this, but on
the whole it is true; what Ford calls the astounding vitality of a hope for which
very little empirical evidence exists, or has ever existed, shows that in fact it
does not rest on rational analysis.
Now the question that we have to ask is: what it does rest on? Under what
conditions do individuals or groups return time and again to this policy? Who
are they? What is their social composition or their individual selection? How,
if at all, has it changed? And under what conditions may they actually believe
that these activities can have, except in the most exceptional circumstances, a
genuine effectiveness? However, there is a much wider problem and this is, I
think, separate from the distinction between fringe-group violence and
structural violence, or however you choose to define it. What do we
understand by violence and social protest in politics? The question is begged
by concentrating on the extreme examples which in fact are the subject matter
of most of the papers- assassination, terror and so on - because nobody
really doubts that these are cases of violence. However, the issue is fudged if
these phenomena are confused with other cases which are clearly less easily
defined. And here I suggest that some conceptual discriminations are
necessary. First that the very use of the term violence as a separate social
category assumes a certain discrimination already, a certain selection out of
acts of violence which are classified as social or political. Thus so long as
husbands are assumed to be entitled to beat wives, or fathers children, or
schoolmasters pupils, nobody will regard an example of a schoolmaster
beating a pupil or a husband a wife as an example of violence.
Today indeed we would worry, but in those days one would take note only
in quite exceptional cases and indeed in traditional societies there are
mechanisms, that have been much discussed- for instance Charivari, and
others- for public opinion to express its condemnation of excessive violence
within a society which accepts a certain degree of it. Now it is true that until
fairly recently the gradual decline of such socially accepted violence was
accepted as a fact although today it may be increasing once again. Eighteenth
century England was a notoriously riotous country, but nobody discussed
political violence as such very much, or correlated the very large endemic
degree of violence in that country with any specific variables. If anything it was
regarded, at least by British governments, as a helpful sign of the British love
of liberty. The very high degree of interpersonal violence in some backward
countries, for instance the very high murder rate in some backward regions,
say in the nineteenth century in Sicily as against the Veneto or in Colombia or
Mexico in the twentieth century against Chile and Uruguay was not
considered basically as a political problem but as a problem of historic or
16
Eric J. Hobsbawm
17
knocks him down. After this he offers his hand and thinks everything is solved,
but it is not solved, because for the Scotsman there is only one thing to be done
and that is to exact blood. He has no option about it: the man is a friend, the
two have long been friends, but the rules of his game require that he be killed
and he is killed and tried and there is a marvellous passage where the
eighteenth-century judge understands, as it were, what he is doing and says,
'We must see that this man is not a criminal in any sense, he is simply doing
what in his society he was morally expected to do. It is different from what we
in England do, it is different from what the English law allows, but we must
not see him as anti-social. NeverthelesS' as a representative of the law of the
land I am obliged to sentence him to death.'
This brings out the subjective historical setting of what we are discussing as
'violence' extremely well. As for the discrimination within a specific culture,
here I think we are on much more concrete ground, for it does seem, to judge
by nineteenth-century England, that in traditional societies there was a very
considerable degree of correlation between the aim of an action and the degree
of permitted or necessary violence which was applied to it. The best known
case I know is that of British farm labourers in the early nineteenth century.
There, for certain purposes, violence against property was almost always
legitimate, the killing or maiming of animals was almost always legitimate,
violence against people was much less legitimate and only under certain
circumstances, although under such circumstances beating people up, driving
them out or violent acts- such as running them out of town, tarring and
feathering them and so on - were quite legitimate as regular actions. What
was hardly ever legitimate was killing people and indeed you find that in these
violent movements very few people indeed are killed normally. This has often
been pointed out: the people that are killed are killed by the other side, by the
forces of order. The interesting point is that these discriminations were made
by people who were not in themselves opposed to killing people. The very
same men who, in a different situation such as if they were poachers
confronted with gamekeepers, would fight and shoot to kill and expect to be
fought and shot to be killed, refused to kill or even badly to wound if they were
part of a mob demanding higher wages or destroying threshing machines. I
think the mechanism of making violence proportionate to the aim is rather
similar to making the penalty proportionate to the crime in official law. It is
very widespread. In the customary codes of law which have been analysed by
Italian observers, say in the Sardinian highlands, it is very clear that certain
types of offence like stealing a goat must call for certain action, but not more
than a certain retaliation, whereas more serious actions are met by escalating
retaliation up to the most extreme. How then do these conventions which
govern violence break down, how far have they broken down, how far are they
being reconstructed? I think there are actually some signs that they are being
reconstructed today, when we are once again living in a society with very
widespread and endemic interpersonal violence as well as structural and
18
Eric J. Hobsbawm
political violence. I merely want to suggest two possible methods: first there is
the kind of breakdown of older societies and structures in which, as one might
say, the rules get out of hand, a phenomenon which is very well known in the
history of blood feuds. T)le mechanisms which exist normally to correct and
conclude blood feuds fairly rapidly rely on a basic framework of social
relations and when that breaks down blood feuds get out of hand and you
have long generation-lasting civil wars between kinship groups and families,
which nobody knows quite how to conclude.
The second I suggest is destruction by liberalism. Nineteenth-centv.ry
liberal society in rejecting all violence abolished the distinction between
limited and unlimited violence, for when anything which is not actually
writing a leading article in the paper or putting a cross in the ballot box could
be defined as a violent action or the use of force, the very significant difference
between killing somebody and threatening somebody or even going
on strike may get destroyed. I think it has been destroyed. One final
element I would like to mention. In the absence of institutional
expressions and group interests, violence, that is to say illegal action, is often
the only way open, because whatever people do who have no legal way of
expressing their demands must be defined as illegal, even if it is not very
violent. For we have to bear in mind that the definition of violence is
administrative and legal. It is what is not allowed by law which is defined as a
violent act, never mind whether it is simply a public meeting or an
assassination. The traditional peasant rising in nineteenth-century Russia
consisted largely of a policeman and a priest haranguing a gang of sullen
mushiks in the village square and no more. It was defined administratively as
an 'insurrection' and not clearly distinguished from a real insurrection.
Now all this changed in the nineteenth century. Social movements, the more
conscious and organised, the more this happened to them, abandoned
individual violence even when committed to revolution by insurrection and
civil war as with Lenin, who looked forward to the breakdown of the old order
which was to be replaced in direct confrontation by a new order. But of course
he would have preferred to do without a civil war. But they resisted individual
violence or terror or endemic violence of the kind that I have talked about,
because in the situation they aimed at it was not very useful. Such violence for
those new movements meant the lashing out of the weak against the strong,
the mode of action of those who do not know any better and cannot do
anything else. Hence, the at-first-sight surprising but deeply held difference
between the classical movements of the left, including Marxism, with their
rejection of individual terror, and movements such as the anarchists.
But finally at this point, we need to consider a completely different problem,
namely what is the role of violence in revolutions as distinct from violence in
defending oneself against counter-revolutions or even the violence of postrevolutionary states? How violent indeed are revolutions? My own feeling is
that the actual mass revolutions in general, whatever happens afterwards, are
19
on the whole relatively unviolent as indeed are very many of the mass
movements of peasants and others. Insofar as their success is guaranteed they
do not need it, indeed their object is not violence, or vengeance as such, but
what is to be achieved by violence. This can be said of the relatively few groups
in early nineteenth-century England who were committed to physical force
and violence: what they wanted was not the violent action but its
consequences. It seems to me that unless we consider some of these
discriminations we may find it difficult to see the terrorism of the present in its
proper perspective.
21
22
M a/co/m /. Thomis
during the first half of the nineteenth century. 5 Their particular brand of
political blackmail, a political demand backed up by a show of force and the
threat to use it, was to recur during the Chartist period, when the violence of
language rather than that of actions was to characterise the protest techniques
of the parliamentary reformers.
Another category of violence is that associated with attacks upon objects of
hatred, where targets are destroyed because they are themselves the object of
the protesters' anger. Poorhouses and workhouses frequently feature as
targets, both before and after the New Poor Law of 1834. Peacock records
several such attacks in East Anglia in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth
centuries, such as the destruction of 'Bulcamp Hell' and the attack on Nacton
house by a mob of 400 labourers who were 'resolved the poor should be
maintained in their own parishes'. 6 David Williams also records many such
attacks during the Rebecca Riots in West Wales in 1839-43, on workhouses
that were obnoxious for their own sake and because they were invariably
chosen to accommodate soldiers who were sent to impose law and order. 7
They reached their most intensive form during the anti-Poor Law movement
after 1834 when new workhouses were demolished, and attacks upon Poor
Law Commissioners, guardians, and constables occurred. On 30 October
1837, Commissioner Power emerged from the Bradford Courthouse to a
shower of mud, stones, and umbrellas, a treatment to which he was by this
time quite accustomed. The following month a rioting crowd controlled the
streets and possessed the courthouse despite the presence of special constables
and troops. 8
It would be difficult to say whether such incidents were ends in themselves
or whether they were ever thought to be part of an assault upon a whole
system that might be changed if a sufficient number of examples of its
unpopularity were produced. Similarly, within machine-breaking, it is
difficult to know if offensive machinery such as steam looms, gig mills, and
shearing frames were thought to be possible candidates for total elimination
by those who conducted their attacks upon them. There is no doubt that
within a small industry such as the cloth-finishing trade, machine-breakers
could for a short time, as in the summer of 1812, virtually eliminate the use of
offensive machinery by maintaining a reign of terror, but in a larger operation
like cotton-weaving the hold of the steam-loom was sufficiently strong and its
use sufficiently widespread by the time of the major violent resistance of 1826
that destruction of steam looms was hardly a practical proposition. 9
Threshing machines too were a frequent target of popular violence; the East
Anglian machines of 4-5hp condemned by a Colchester correspondent in
1816 for their capacity to thrash as much corn in one day as 20 men working
with the flail, were broken along with mole ploughs in the riots of that year. 10
The Swing riots of 1830 in the South East produced no fewer than 390 attacks
of this kind. 11 Even more dramatically singled out were the toll-gates
destroyed with much panache by the Rebecca Rioters in 1839-43, who also
23
destroyed salmon weirs across rivers. Sometimes the rioters' target of hatred
was a person, perhaps an election candidate, or an official responsible for
imple-menting an unpopular policy. Richards records the contemporary view
that there was 'a regular organised system of resistance to civil power during
attempts to enforce the Highland clearances', during which Sheriff's officers
could expect to be set upon, stripped naked, or otherwise humiliated. 12 Other
possible targets for personal abuse were strike-breakers. The Glasgow Cotton
Spinners' strike of 1837 produced incidents of vitriol-throwing and other
unfriendly acts, but it was probably not typical of how industrial disputes were
usually conducted.
A slightly different kind of hated target was that which was the property of
the person currently the object of popular fury, as in the case of the
Nottingham Reform Bill riots of October 1831. Here the best known incidents
concerned Nottingham Castle, Colwick Hall, Beeston Mill, and Wollaton
Hall, all property of well-known local opponents of the Reform Bill. Rioters
were not concerned to demonstrate their hostility to castles, mills, or stately
residences, all of which they tolerated happily enough in normal times, but to
protest against the attitude of their owners by striking at their property. 13 This
was scarcely 'collective bargaining by riot' unless the unlikely interpretation is
accepted that participants were consciously and deliberately striking a blow
for parliamentary reform by coercing their opponents into a situation in
which they would be ready to concede reform rather than subject themselves
to the risk of further outrages. That was not the outcome locally, and it was
probably not intended that it should be. The attacks were negative in the sense
that they were reprisals for grievances rather than positive in the sense that
they were designed to achieve some particular good. They were acts
committed in anger for past deeds rather than in anticipation that they would
be productive of some good. To what extent the rioting crowds acted
spontaneously and to what extent they received active leadership have
recently been questioned, and this is an issue that clearly merits much more
investigation. 14
Sometimes violent deeds of an unexplained nature accompanied protest
movements with otherwise clear causes and clear manifestations. The East
Anglian riots of 1816, for instance, included a sequence of events in which a
cottage was maliciously burnt down for no apparent reason, a haulm stack
destroyed, other cottages pulled down, and farm buildings set alight. Such
events were exceptional. 15 There were not many such cases to substantiate the
traditional view of popular violence as a wild, irrational orgy of destruction.
It is often quite impossible to make a clear distinction between past
grievance and future hopes. The labourers' risings in East Anglia in 1816 and
in the South-eastern counties of England in 1830 are a mixture of angry
response to an intolerable situation in the retaliatory form of arson, rick
burning or assaults upon property. At the same time they have a more
calculating aspect to them of collective bargaining by riot in attempts to fix
24
Malcolm I. Thomis
wage rates, influence Poor Law administration, or the collection of tithes, not
to mention the specific campaign waged against the threshing machine, which
was rational enough to enlist the support of many farmers in that most curious
phenomenon of nineteenth century protest, the readiness of some farmers to
put out their own machines to be broken by the crowds. 16 With food-rioting,
too, popular action is both an angry response, a lashing out at those who are
supposedly responsible for the existing predicament, and a violent course
directed towards positive objectives. These might be short-term ones of cheap
or free food of a particular kind or the longer term ones of reminding
government and society of their traditional values and traditional obligations,
if one is to extend Edward Thompson's argument on the moral economy of
the eighteenth-century crowd into the nineteenth century. 17 Whatever the acts
of violence committed in moments of passion, it is unlikely that any historian
would today be content to accept contemporary views of wanton disorder and
destruction and refuse to look for pattern and purpose in what was being
attempted. It may be that the rick-burning of the labourers is still seen as a
primitive response in the sense that they were behaving instinctively rather
than selecting from a variety of options open to them, for their options were
indeed very limited, but their conduct would still be open to defence as an
intelligible, even intelligent, resort to the means that were available and one
not entirely unproductive of success.
Although violence has traditionally been ascribed to those engaged in
protest of one kind or another, there have recently been salutory reminders
that much of the violence in British political life at this time emanated from the
authorities, who were frequently responsible for turning peaceful protest into
something much more alarming. Indeed, it has been observed that 'the
authorities have far greater control over the short-term extent and timing of
collective violence, especially damage to persons rather than property, than
their challengers do'. 18 Peterloo, 1819, is the classic case of this, though by no
means a solitary one. Deaths and serious injuries in the Highlands, Richards
reminds us, were almost entirely on the side of the protesters, and this would
be true of food-rioting, machine-breaking, and the whole range of protest
movements. 19 What seems particularly characteristic of the behaviour of
those in authority in this period is their capacity to misjudge a situation and
interfere with disastrous consequences. Popular political protest remained
peaceful in the West of Scotland in the autumn of 1819, after Peterloo, except
when the magistrates intervened, as they did at Paisley to seize a radical
banner; then orderly crowds turned into rioting mobs and harmless people
became menacing. 20 In July 1839, Birmingham experienced incendiary riots
for nearly a week from an angered populace provoked by the actions of the
local authorities, and during the Black Country coal strikes of 1842 actual
clashes occurred only when mine-owners used regular soldiers, Yeomanry,
and special constables to defend their pits against men on strike. In
Wolverhampton, 1835, a hostile jeering crowd had been converted into a
25
riotous one by a magistrate who read the Riot Act and ordered soldiers to fire
on the crowd. 21
In most of these cases violence has been seen as instinctive, retaliatory, or
primitive behaviour, but rarely as a form of conduct consciously and
deliberately chosen in preference to other forms or because other forms had
been found wanting. A magistrate of Bury St Edmunds condemned rioters in
1816 for their failure to seek redress of grievance by 'peaceable, orderly, and
legal application'. 22 The inadequacies of local protection and their ignorance
of and exclusion from political processes ensured from the East Anglian
labourers a pre-political response of resorting to violence, but such conduct
was not always 'pre-political' in this period. In 1812 the war against clothfinishing machinery was launched with the justification that 'we petition no
more -that won'tdo -fighting must', and in all three areas of Luddite violence,
the East Midlands, West Yorkshire, and East Lancashire, machine-breaking
occurred only after a collapse of collective bargaining, petitioning and
peaceful negotiation. 23 But this was a use of violence in its most sophisticated
form, for not only was violence widespread and prolonged; it was also
controlled in its application, as if violence were a legitimate and usable
weapon that could be invoked as and when necessary by the working classes.
The most sophisticated operators were the East Midlands stockingknitters, whose motives were quite different from those of their northern
brothers who were involved in resisting machinery. The stocking-knitters were
perhaps the best example of collective bargainers by riot, for they had
developed by 1811-12, the years of their greatest violence, a traditional way of
escalating their pressure upon employers if more peaceful methods proved
unsuccessful. They were well practised in the arts of trade-union organisation
and the conducting of strikes, and they were even experienced in working
within the, admittedly fairly narrow, confines of the political system and
petitioning parliament for a redress of their grievances. But when all these
tactics and techniques proved useless, which they sometimes did, the
stockingers still had one sanction remaining to them, the property of their
employers, the hosiers, the stocking-frames on which they worked, which were
kept not in a factory where they could be protected by the owner but in a small
workshop, or more frequently in the workers' own homes, where they were
almost totally vulnerable.
The breaking of stocking frames was an easy and obvious way of
conducting a campaign. In 1778, on the failure of a petition for the
parliamentary regulation of the hosiery trade, frames had been dragged out
into the streets and smashed. In 1811 on the failure of negotiations to keep up
wage rates and control production standards, stocking-frames were again
destroyed, in large numbers, over wide areas, as the stockingers attempted to
bargain by a policy of deliberate but controlled violence to fix wage rates and
to impose other conditions upon their employers. And there is no doubt that
machine-wrecking was a specifically chosen technique intended to achieve
26
M a/co/m /. Thomis
what could not be got by other means. Even in Yorkshire, where machinewrecking was directed against the machinery itself rather than as a supplement
to negotiation, there was an attempt to justify resort to the tactic on the
grounds that all other avenues were now closed, including that trodden by the
Prince Regent, who had been the focus of some hopes before 'falling in with
that Damn'd set of Rogues, Percival & Co'. 24 In Nottingham, however,
machine-breaking was a much more calculated policy, applied with a
precision and degree of selectivity that almost anticipated the dictum that war
is a continuation of diplomacy by other means. The most remarkable
examples of this occurred in 1814, when machine-breaking is no longer the
replacement alternative to trade-union organisation but appears to be under
the careful and precise direction of the trade union itself, which selects the
method of attack appropriate to the particular enemy.
After a succession of employers, Orgill, Needham, and Morley, had had
their frames broken following resistance to the Union Society's claim for an
increase in rates, Ray Brothers, who also resisted, were attacked by the more
orthodox strike weapon. This last firm worked entirely on independent
frames, not ones owned by themselves, as usually happened, and were in
consequence not susceptible to coercion by frame-breaking. The punishment
was chosen to fit not the crime, for all were charged with the same, but the
criminal. 25 1t might be necessary to look ahead to the years before 1914 to find
such a dispassionate employment of violence as a technique of protest and
resistance. Both the suffragettes who turned to acts of sabotage when their
peaceful campaign had failed to achieve the required results and the Ulster
Unionists who armed themselves to resist a legislative act of the British
parliament which they were incapable of stopping by constitutional means
were to make a conscious choice of violence as a means of gaining their wishes
in the same way that the Luddites selected violence, not simply because it was
the only way left but because it seemed the most effective way to operate in
association with other techniques in particular situations.
If violence is often difficult to categorise, it is equally difficult to identify
with any precise ideologies, let alone one particular one. When people resorted
to violence in the first half of the nineteenth century they usually did so
because they had specific and limited grievances, mainly against individuals,
which could be satisfied by specific and limited remedies, again mainly
supplied by individuals. Rarely was the grievance felt against a whole system,
the state, the class-structure, capitalism, or industrialism, for example, and
rarely was its remedy sought in some comprehensive solution that would
involve a major shift of political or economic power within society. Violence
tended to arise from discontents that could be accommodated. It was
consequently often a serious problem but never a very serious problem.
This is not to say that the aims of those who resorted to violent social protest
were totally devoid of ideological content. Invariably those who practised
violence believed they were right to do so and justified themselves in terms of
27
their pursuit of some ideal or high purpose, which was frequently expressed as
justice, humanity, freedom, liberty, or some such concept. Rebecca, like Robin
Hood, embodied natural justice, and her children were all those to whom it
was denied:
When I meet the lime-men on the road covered with sweat and dust, I know
they are Rebeccaites. When I see the coalmen coming to town clothed in
rags, hard worked and hard fed, I known they are mine, these are Rebecca's
children. When I see the farmers' wives carrying loaded baskets to market,
bending under the weight, I know well that these are my daughters. If I turn
into a farmer's house, and see them eating barley bread and drinking whey,
surely, say I, these are members of my family, these are the oppressed sons
and daughters of Rebecca.
An army of principles, according to Rebecca, would penetrate where an army
of soldiers could not, and Rebecca did all by principle and nothing by
expediency, including the issuing of a xenophobic edict that no Englishman
should be employed as a steward in Wales. 26
The East Anglian rioters rose 'to fight for their liberties'/ 7 as they
understood them, and the crofters of Sutherland for their traditional rights to
their lands. Their thinking and their motivation were, it has been suggested,
essentially backward-looking, directed towards lost rights rather than towards any future restructuring of the Highland economy or the old system of
land-owning and land-holding ..2 8
Similarly with the Luddites, neither their techniques nor their beliefs would
be of interest to organised workers of the next generation; they advanced no
new political ideology and insofar as they showed a common economic
philosophy it was expressed in the desire to salvage what could be saved from
the wreckage of the old paternalist, protective legislation, particularly to
restore the state to its traditional role as protector of working-class jobs
against new inventions. Such aims have been interpreted as the expression of
an anti-capitalist ideology, and Luddism has been suggested by Edward
Thompson as the crisis point for capitalism which it successfully survived. 29
Such a view almost certainly exaggerates the degree of coherence in Luddite
attitudes and ignores the extent to which capitalism had established itselflong
before this date in all three industries which experienced Luddism in 1812. It is
also an exaggeration to see the Luddites in unconscious revolt against the
factory system or, conversely and paradoxically, to see them as standard
bearers of the alternative social and economic philosophy for the future that
will find expression in campaigns for the legal minimum wage, opposition to
sweated labour, compensation for redundancy, trade unionism, and the tenhour movement. The Luddites were machine-breakers with precise grievances
who sought precise remedies, and their activities will not carry too heavy an
ideological imposition.
28
M a/colm /. Thomis
George Rude, it has recently been said, found that the rioting English
populace of the eighteenth century acted in accordance with a coherent set of
beliefs and values, 30 concepts of Englishmen's 'rights' and 'liberties', including the right and liberty to persecute Catholics and foreigners, and Edward
Thompson's exposition of 'The moral economy of the English crowd' has
ascribed an ideology to food rioters who are said to have acted in defence of
principles long embodied in law and practice on how food ought to be
marketed and what expectations the poor had of society. 31 This resistance to a
market economy in food is a parallel to the resistance to a market economy in
manufacture, and the coherence of principles and motives might well be overstated, but food-rioting, like almost every other aspect of working-class
behaviour in this period, will never seem the same as a result of Thompson's
exposition.
It has been the almost universal experience of those historians who have
examined movements of violent social protest in the first half of the nineteenth
century that they have been unable to detect any clear underlying political
motivation or aspiration towards a particular political position. At the same
time all have uncovered some statement of political intent amongst manifestos
and formulations that deal with the particular matters that are the subject of
the current protest. For example, Wigan food-rioters of 1800 threatened their
local magistrates, in the imagery of the day, with the erection of the 'Tree of
Liberty', whilst London rioters in September of the same year were urged to
remember that sovereignty resided with them. 32 East Anglian rioters in 1816
talked of pulling down the Parliament House and marching to London to
demand their rights like 'Sons of Liberty', 3 3 while the history of Luddism is
spiced with references to extreme political designs, both from those who were
concerned to suppress the movement and from documents that allegedly
emanated from within Luddite ranks. The interpretation of this difficult
material has been fraught with much controversy, but historians have been
inclined to discount much of it as empty rhetoric or alarmist fears rather than
see it as an accurate indicator of what the Luddites were really attempting. 34
In my own work on the revolutionary movement in early-nineteenthcentury Britain I found that the revolutionaries who took to the streets in 1817
were almost totally devoid of any ideological position. Their revolution would
be all kinds of things to all men. It offered them what would give them most
pleasure and it would be implemented by means that were understood by no
man. The Scottish rebels of 1820 were at least thinking in terms of the
acquisition of political rights as the basis for moving forward towards the just
society, but their ideological position received no clearer definition than this.
Indeed, during this period of Industrial Revolution there emerged no
common working-class ideology that could serve as a basis for either political
or industrial action. In the 1790s working men were more inclined to form
Church/King mobs and display their hatred of foreigners in celebration of
war victories than they were to adopt a revolutionary political position or a
29
class stance. Popular sentiment was crudely patriotic. When riots occurred
they were more likely to be against the local baker than the system of
government, the local employer rather than capitalism, the factory system, or
the Industrial Revolution. And the continued failure of the working classes to
evolve a common ideological position for themselves as workers remained a
feature of working-class response into the second half of the nineteenth
century. Perceived grievances remained immediate and able to be satisfied
without the need for fundamental change within the social and political
system. And when they had grievances they looked for their removal not to
ideas by which a better system might be achieved but to leaders who might
exploit the existing system to short-term advantage or expose them to the
whims and fancies of the individual in command. It is interesting that William
Lovett should have called for ideas, not leaders. In their absence, those who
participated in movements of social protest, peaceful or violent, were never in
a position to posit an ideological alternative to that which supported the
system under which their grievances arose.
At the same time it must be acknowledged that when people rioted and
committed acts of violence they frequently did so for the upholding of rights
which they supposed they possessed. The notion of popular rights derived
from somewhere, and if no consistent ideological position emerged in these
years this was hardly because of any shortage of ideas. Perhaps their very
abundance was part of the problem. This was the age of the Industrial
Revolution, when workers were tom between backward glances towards
Tudor and Stuart paternalism - under which monarchs themselves had
occasionally intervened to ensure that British workers were not left unemployed by inventions and scientific advance -and the ideas and attractions of the new industrialism, to be developed possibly along Owenite lines
but capable of being squeezed to some advantage even if economic individualism triumphed over co-operation. It was an age of political revolution when
sons of liberty marched and trees of liberty were planted on both sides of the
Atlantic and the rights of man were again enunciated, but man as the political
animal he had long been rather than the industrial animal he was about to
become. It was also an age of religious revolution when the Bible, over the
centuries a bountiful provider of seditious ideas, once more left the hands of its
professional interpreters and became for some an inspiration of radicalism,
for others a justification for social and political conservatism. All the major
changes of the age ensured an intellectual ferment, but they scarcely
guaranteed a clear-cut ideology for social protest.
It has never been difficult to make out a case for the efficacy of violence as a
protest technique. Food-rioters as yet unnumbered must have had dozens of
successes to their credit in fixing prices and stopping movements of grain; the
Luddites had a host of short-term victories whatever their long-term
achievements; Swing rioters have been cited as the most successful of all
machine-breakers; 35 Reform Bill rioters have frequently been given credit for
Malcolm I. Thomis
30
the passing of the Great Reform Bill; anti-Poor Law rioters undoubtedly
affected the course of the implementation of the New Poor Law; Rebecca
ceased her activities when the government agreed to an enquiry into the Welsh
turnpike system and won 'a substantial victory with the passing of Lord
Cawdor's Act' 36 ; 'Collective-bargaining by riot', deemed a rational and
successful technique for pre-industrial trade unions, had its triumphs in the
nineteenth century too; and the list could be continued.
Yet for all these successes, violence did not become institutionalised in
Britain as a normal and acceptable form of protest and expression. Quite the
reverse occurred as food-rioting disappeared from English life, though
persisting longer in remote areas of Scotland; trade unions adapted to a
peaceful role of negotiation, and political campaigners demonstrated their
numbers and their strength in public meetings where actions spoke more softly
than words. Britain had found by the middle of the nineteenth century the
means to accommodate potential violence within the political system or to
export it to Ireland. It is neither Whiggish nor bourgeois to note this or to
regret only that Irish history was about to enter another violent phase.
Whatever future discoveries about the nature of pre-industrial society, it
seems reasonable now to view the age of the Industrial Revolution as a period
when British politics and society were prone to violence for all sorts of reasons.
Demographic change and population redistribution placed an impossible
burden on the traditional machinery of law and order, which was not
appropriately adjusted until the middle of the nineteenth century. Industrialisation introduced a whole range of new problems and anxieties into people's
lives and into social relationships, and it was not until the 1840s that British
governments began to show any real awareness of these problems and the new
society which they were governing. Like all ages it was an age of transition, but
it was also an age of revolution, and it is possible that when we have satisfied
the present urge to catalogue the violence and count the violent we shall revert
to traditional attitudes and wonder at how successfully and peacefully Britain
passed through these times.
NOTES
31
4 Collective Violent
Protest during the
German Vormiirz
Hans-Gerhard Husung
LeBon's prejudice on the destructivity of masses, seemingly 'guided from the
spinal chord rather than from the brain'~ seemed to have been monstrously
confirmed in National Socialism. The following relatively non-violent 1950s
and 1960s with the establishment of democratic forms of participation and an
unprecedented economic boom gave little occasion in the Federal Republic
for concern with violent mass action. The use of violence in the political and
social process was regarded as a phenomenon of the past which had been
overcome. Astonishment at the aggravation of race riots in the USA, the
events of May 1968 in France, student unrest at home at the end of the 1960s
and finally the terrorism of the 1970s 2 was therefore all the greater. In the
ensuing discussion on violence and its role in society it almost seemed as if the
historical dimension had been forgotten in a country with no conscious
revolutionary tradition, especially since historical science itself had scarcely
systematically examined the question.
In earlier works any reference to violence in the V ormiirz period tended to
highlight spectacular events such as the storming of the Frankfurt guardhouse
or the Silesian weavers' revolts; however such occurrences failed to be
interpreted as various facets of one overall phenomenon. On the other hand
the Great 1789 French Revolution had long occasioned thematic debate on
violent popular protest. The theory of the political and social development of
England, allegedly free of violence, had the effect of a challenge which
contributed to comprehensive research on numerous expressions of violence
in revolutionary mass action and 'bargaining by riot' (Hobsbawm). 3 The
methods and explanatory concepts successfully applied in the development of
this theory provided a valuable example for recent German research on
protest. Moreover further stimuli were provided by sociology and political
science, above all from American sources, which in analysis of theories on
revolution focused on acts of violence. 4 R. Tilly was the first to attempt an
analysis of collective protest in Germany from an historical perspective,
correlating it with economic and social change. 5 H. Volkmann was equally
32
33
34
Hans-Gerhard Husung
35
centre not only incited protest action but made such action seem both
necessary and legitimate. The fact that the ducal castle thereby went up in
flames was presumably not the intention of the bourgeois participants. On the
contrary: popular chastisement of the Duke as a means of redress for
grievances was to give way the following morning to alarm and fear of the
sudden prospect of riotous action also being directed at bourgeois property.
In anticipation of this danger hundreds ofhouseowners enrolled in the newlyformed citizens' guards which now successfully sought forces to suppress
further socially motivated protest from the lower classes. 12
The attempted revolt in the Hanoverian town ofGottingen at the beginning
of 1831 came close to a bourgeois revolution at local level. Encouraged by
events in Brunswick and incited to action by similar endeavours in the town of
Osterode in the Harz, university teachers, students and citizens set up an
autonomous 'Gemeinderat' (Communal Council) in the university town with
quasi legislative and executive powers which tried to justify its resistance in the
traditional manner under the motto, 'Wilhelm, unser Biirgerkonig weiB nichts
davon'. ('Wilhelm, our Citizen King, is ignorant of this'); the Munster
ministry thereby became more and more the hated symbol of rigid feudal
social and power structures. For more than a week the Gemeinderat was
successful in upholding its rule both externally against growing military
pressure and internally against its opponents loyal to the authorities and the
lower classes, who saw the overruling of the usual institutions oflaw and order
as an opportunity to launch their own protest action. Finally, however, the
Hanoverian government's ultimatum for peaceful and unconditional capitulation was complied with. 13
For the urban bourgeoisie and the majority of academics active violent
resistance against the concentrated forces of the King seemed to have little
realistic chance of success. As long as the mere threat of violence was enough
to prevent the functioning of the State and municipal authorities, citizens had
no qualms about taking up arms against State authority. However they were
only prepared for violent action in retaliation against attempts at protest from
the lower classes.
Members of the bourgeoisie were much more frequently involved in violent
protest action as upholders of law and order than as activists. Whereas in a
number of Hanoverian cities and in the Duchy of Brunswick they took action
only when State authority had been undermined and the genuine forces of
order overtaxed, in Bremen and Hamburg the Biirgermilitiir (Citizen's Militia)
was a permanent force of order. These armed civic guards were generally
characterised by a certain restraint in the use of forceful bodily violence; their
intervention was generally limited to arresting suspects. It was because of this,
the fact that their social prestige was higher than that of the police and the
army and their ability to relieve a given situation without the use of arms, that
the Senates put the Biirgermilitiir into action against demonstrators first and
foremost whenever possible. 14
36
Hans-Gerhard Husung
37
38
Hans-Gerhard Husung
violent conflict. The locals tried to reserve potential earnings for themselves
and force their non-resident colleagues into the role of a reservoir of labour,
available at any time. And since the authorities and master craftsmen had little
interest in lodging unemployed non-local journeymen in the town over
lengthy periods of time, those seeking employment were exposed, relatively
defenceless, to the massive intimidation of the guildsmen. The threat and use
of physical force emphasised the right claimed by the craftsmen, in particular
the journeymen's fraternities, to regulate the labour market themselves.
In 1839 within such a limited conflict 'foreign' journeymen masons, having
had their lodgings attacked over a number of days, left Hamburg and called
upon their fellow guildsmen in Liibeck, Copenhagen and Hanover to
'chastise' the Hamburg municipality for not having protected them. 24 Similar
events in Bremen in 1840 finally led the governments of the German
Confederation to 'take concurrent measures with regard to those journeymen
craftsmen who have abused the laws of the land by unlawful journeymen's
associations, courts, calls of ill repute and the like'. Journeymen's courts
continued to be held outside the towns 'in the middle of nowhere' with
occasional police arrests and charges of ill repute, thus demonstrating in the
following years the persistence of the traditional structures and customs of the
journeymen. 25
Apart from some trades where craftsmen worked alongside workers and
day labourers and shared common material interests, as for example in the
building trade, coal mining in the Harz or arms manufacture in Herzberg, 26
these lower social groups had no involvement in the inner structures of the
guilds. Whereas the journeymen craftsmen followed a traditional ideology
interpreting the whole of society from a corporative point of view, within
which the social role of their own group was defined, stimulating protest
motivation, workers and day labourers on the other hand were guided by their
direct material requirements. Their social status was already that of a
disembodied class and as such they could not expect any improvement from
the maintenance or the restoration of corporative structures. Their specific
protest action was more based on safeguarding their own economic position
without being any more offensive in the use of violence than the 'honourable
craftsmen'. When workers or day labourers protested against existing or
threatened unemployment or unjust wages they initially tried to achieve their
aim by a demonstration of their numbers and by voicing their demands orally.
At this stage the arrest or dismissal of a few of the presumed ringleaders was
frequent enough to bring the protest to a standstill. 27 Unlike the journeymen
who could use their guild organisation for protest in various sectors and
regions, their scope for protest was restricted since it was action specific to an
individual group and their place of work was a central condition for protest.
Protest among members of the proletariat working on road, dyke, railway and
other public building sites -where large numbers of their class were employed
in the 1840s -largely occurred concerning the jobs available to them in the
39
Vormiirz period. 28 On the other hand in our field of study the process of
industrialisation had not yet set in and the use of agricultural machinery was
not even widespread, which explains the virtual absence of attacks on
machinery. 2 9
Another form of violent protest, the fixing of prices for certain basic
foodstuffs by collective action and active resistance to the Kornabfuhr
(exporting of com) precisely in times of crisis- as was common practice in
England up to the early nineteenth century 30 - was only of peripheral
importance in our area of study. Even throughout the price rises of 1846/47,
only isolated food riots took place. In and around Hamburg women and
youths were the main participants in attacks on traders and bakers at a point
(June 1847) when the price of cereals in general had fallen considerably but
continued to rise in Hamburg due to foreign demand. 31 In rural areas the
'hunger protest' was widespread, above all in the Prussian province of Saxony
against potato and cereal exports. This was to voice the right claimed by the
local population to preferential and sufficient supplies at an appropriate price
before foreign demand was met and forced prices up. Meanwhile plundering
served for direct supplies. Similar action was also carried out in rural
communities in the catchment area of Magdeburg, the Elbe trans-shipment
point, where an additional cause was provided by the hoarding of supplies
with a view to profiteering. 32
With the Elbe as an important transport route, this area was largely
integrated into the supraregional cereals trade resulting in motives for protest
hardly to be found in other regions. Here the stability of relative autarkies
guaranteed minimum supplies for the lower classes in accordance with the
'moral economy'. Private charity and municipal and State assistance still
seemed to function more or less traditionally in rural areas and the towns. 33
Nevertheless it would be wrong to conclude from the lack of collective protest
in rural areas that the situation was a relatively satisfactory one. Overpopulation, the overburdening of agricultural structures, the negative consequences of the dissolution of common property, widespread underemployment and increased self-exploitation characterised the strained social situation of the rural lower classes, above all the large group of spinners and
weavers; in this context it is evident that those groups whose existence was
most threatened were not necessarily the first to protest. The occurrence or
non-occurrence of protest was not only determined by the collective forms of
perception and concepts of legitimacy of potential protestors, but also by the
respective conditions for protest activities. Thus the low level of protest in rural
areas was also a result of the continuation of the rural way of life and work,
into which farmhands and parts of the lower rural classes were still integrated
despite signs that traditional structures were crumbling. Other factors were
involved, such as scattered settlement, dominant in certain regions, the
rudimentary network of communications and last but not least the lack of
objects of protest among the authorities. A high level of competition for every
40
Hans-Gerhard Husung
The forces oflaw and order- the police, the army and town militia- played a
central role in the course of collective protest action and the extent of violence
involved. The professional forces of order were recruited mainly from nonlocals who could either find no job or make no livelihood in a 'respectable'
trade. Their low social prestige impeded their perception of their functions,
producing latent tension vis-a-vis the civil population. Their inadequate, onesided, military-oriented training generally left both the police and the army
with no sense of civic consciousness or respect for civic liberties. Their action
was determined by the logic of the authorities, focused on orders and
obedience and coloured by prejudiced strategies of perception. They thought
they had the law and State authority on their side although the legitimacy of
their behaviour was more than frequently called into question by the
population; this was in fact the underlying driving force behind a number of
disturbances. 34
The civic guards on the other hand were formed by locals with full citizen's
rights, the basic premise for their recruitment being that the possession of
property also implied an interest in maintaining law and order; the lower
classes were therefore excluded. Integrated into daily civic life, the social
esteem and respect enjoyed by individual citizens was transposed into the
militia itself, so that it was in a position to alleviate an acute situation of
conflict by mere words of persuasion. Their social prestige, the calming effect
emanating from the presence of the militia and their restraint in using violence
were interdependent.
Police and the army were often reliant on their superior ability to use
weapons. Whereas demonstrators were at best armed with stones and sticks,
the former on occasions made rigorous use of their swords and firearms. As
the course of the unrest in Hamburg showed in 1830, beginning with antisemitic riots which expanded to symbolic public objects of protest, the
intervention of the army in particular by no means had an intimidatory or a
calming effect, but on the contrary led to an escalation of violence: when
troops were brought in on the second day, the protest immediately focused on
the forces of order. Embitterment grew the following day when mounted
reinforcements were brought in who, 'thrashing their swords blindly',
apparently violently scattered a crowd protesting against arrests in front of the
town hall. This action provoked such rage that after ominous clashes between
41
both formations the leaders of the town militia demanded the withdrawal of
the hated soldiers from the town. This demand proved to be justified two days
later when, on a Sunday afternoon, many Hamburgers went to look at an
inn in the quarter ofSt Paul which had been pillaged the previous evening and
was now guarded by a spectacular military presence. A number of stones were
thrown from among the crowd and the ensuing massive reinforcement of
troops created a situation of confrontation. After a short warning the soldiers
shot blindly into the crowd, thereby and in the subsequent street-fighting
apparently killing fifteen onlookers including two children; at least as many
again were badly hurt. 35
Apart from being prepared for such unscrupulous use of violence other
features were evident: crowds, which often gathered precisely where there was
an unusual police or military presence, were regarded as an acute danger to
public order and security and were thus to be obstructed. Arrests and the use
of violence aggravated the situation of conflict, often launching renewed
escalation of violence and counter-violence.
On the other hand the police in particular could rationally react without the
use of violence if faced with a crowd of demonstrators large in number and if
military reinforcement was not on its way. This was often the situation in
villages and rural communities. Arrests were then often carried out at a later
date when the crowd had long dispersed, the feelings of solidarity had subsided
and the local police forces had been reinforced by troops or town militia.
Judicial inquiries into protest action led to arrests only days after the actual
disturbances. It is of interest to note however that arrests after the event
aroused hardly any demonstration of sympathy or attempts to free the
prisoners; obviously such arrests provoked little feeling of emotion or solidarity.
There was less risk involved for demonstrators in situations where the forces
of repression showed little determination or sympathised with the activists, as
for example the Hamburg Biirgermilitiir in anti-semitic action. 36 Furthermore
in periods of frequent protest the probability of sanctions being imposed also
diminished considerably, since simultaneous protest in a number of places
overburdened the Vormiirz State's potential of repression: it could not make
its presence felt everywhere with sufficient force.
Throughout the year of crisis 1846/47 the authorities deliberately raised the
threshold of sanctions so as not to aggravate general dissatisfaction and to
avoid creating unnecessary occasion for protest. Thus a charge against an
alleged ringleader in a Bread Riot came rather inopportunely for the
magistrate of Norden. Obliged to hold an enquiry, he tried to limit his action
to a minimum since 'it was dangerous to increase agitation among the workers
here - not to be underestimated - by pulling in too many of their accomplices'. 37
The forces of order tended to mediate in cases of disturbances based on
rivalry between members of a specific trade or craft or a social class. 38
However if journeymen and workers were in confrontation with their masters
42
Hans-Gerhard Husung
43
blame who, with their property and function as civil servants, were held liable
for the policy of the government. Since the masses were largely incapable of
abstract thinking this personification of abstract causes facilitated the
articulation of discontent and the satisfaction of spontaneous feelings of
revenge. In certain cases acts of violence directly obstructed the functioning of
the institution considered as oppressive, for example if customs barriers were
destroyed or tax rolls burned. 42
The conscious selection of objects of collective protest and their symbolic
content indicates a correlation with the causes which made the use of violence
seem rational to the protestors. Finally violence was an infringement of the
law, in all probability posing a challenge to the authorities, thus facilitating
the input of discontent and demands for redress into the political system and
demonstrating that they had to be resolved immediately. Frequently the use of
violence was not seen by its initiators as the breaking of a norm, but as a
traditional, legitimate and autonomous form of counterviolence which
precisely in the Vormiirz period came into collision with the monopoly of
power increasingly being pushed through by the State and its tendency to
'objectivise' domestic violence as 'constitutionality'. 43
Against the background of later developments, precisely in the field of the
labour struggle, it becomes evident that constitutionality also implies
institutionalised means of expressing conflict and reaching a consensus, its
most important medium being legal organisation. As the behaviour of the
guilds in the Vormiirz period illustrated, organisation alone without an
appropriate mechanism for settling conflict, tended to produce violence,
hinder the emancipation of their members and serve no function in sociopolitical protest. 44
NOTES
l.
2.
44
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
II.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
Hans-Gerhard Husung
The Making of the English Working Class (London, 1965); J. Z. Ward (ed.),
Popular Movements 1830-1850 (London, 1970).
Rather than reference to individual sources cf. the comprehensive debate by G. P.
Meyer, 'Revolutionstheorien heute: Ein kritischer Dberblick in historischer
Absicht', in GG, Sonderheft 2 (1976) pp. 121-76.
R. Tilly, 'Popular Disorders in Germany in the 19th Century: A Preliminary
Survey', in Journal of Social History4(1970) pp. 1-41; R., L. and C. Tilly, The
Rebellious Century 1830-1930 (Cambridge Mass., 1975).
H. Volkmann, Die Krise von 1830. Form. Ursache und Funktion des sozialen
Protests im deutschen Vormiirz, Habil. thesis Univ. Berlin 1975; H. Volkmann,
'Kategorien des sozialen Protests im Vormiirz', in GG 3 (1977) pp. 164-89. R.
Tilly (ed.), GG 3: Sozialer Protest gives a discussion of the premises for research.
Details on most of the individual cases may be found in H.-G. Husung, Politische
Krisen und kollektiver Protest in Norddeutschland zwischen Restauration und
Revolution /848, Ph.D. thesis Univ. Brunswick 1978. This includes a discussion
on selection criteria.
Cf. Ch. v. Ferber, Die Gewalt in der Po/itik: Auseinandersetzungen mit Max
Weber (Stuttgart, Berlin, Cologne, Mainz 1970) p. 22ff.; J. Galtung, 'Der
besondere Beitrag der Friedensforschung zum Studium der Gewalt: Typologien',
inK. Rottges and H. Sauer (eds), Gewalt, Grundlagenprobleme in der Diskussion
der Gewaltphiinomene (Basel, Stuttgart, 1978) pp. 9-32.
On the class problem in general: A. Kraus, Die Unterschichten Hamburgs in der /.
Hiilfte des 19. Jahrhunderts. Entstehung, Struktur und Lebensverhiiltnisse: Eine
historisch-statistische Untersuchung (Stuttgart, 1965), p. 3ff.; W. K. Blessing,
'Zur Analyse politischer Mentalitiit und Ideologie der Unterschichten im 19.
Jahrhundert: Aspekte, Methoden und Quellen am bayrischen Beispiel' in
Zeitschrift fur bayrische Landesgeschichce 34 (1971) pp. 768-816; F. D.
Marquardt, 'Sozialer Aufstieg, sozialer Abstieg und die Entstehung der Berliner
Arbeiterklasse, 1806-1848' in GG I (1976) pp. 43-77; P. Aycoberry, 'Der
Strukturwandel im Kolner Mittelstand 1820-1850' in ibid, pp. 78-98.
On the problem of source material cf. Tilly, Disorders p. 6ff.; Blessing, p. 78;
L. Uhen, GruppenbewuBtsein bei deutschen Arbeitern im Jahrhundert der lndustria/isierung (Berlin, 1964) pp. 23, 27.
Cf. A. Liidtke, 'Praxis und Funktion staatlicher Repression: PreuBen 1815-50' in
GG 3 (1977) pp. 190-211.
Staatsarchiv (State Archives) of Lower Saxony, Wolfenbiittel (StAWF), HS VI 9
No. 61; 12 A Neu Fb. 2 B 11 II; T. Miiller, Stadtdirektor Wilhelm Bode. Leben und
Wirken (Brunswick, 1963); 0. Bose, Karl II. Herzog zu Braunschweig und
Liineburg: Ein Beitrag zur Metternichforschung (Brunswick, 1956) is tendentious;
Husung, p. 78ff.
Hauptstaatsarchiv (Main State Archives) of Lower Saxony, Hanover (HStAH),
Hann. Des. 92 XLI 137 vol. 1, n; W. Loschburg, Es begann in Gottingen.
Protestation und Entlassung der Gottinger Sieben (East Berlin, 1964) pp. 20ff.
See the Senate decrees dated 27 Sept., 7/8 Oct. 1830; Staatsarchiv (State Archives)
of the Free Hanseatic City of Bremen (StAHB), 2-D-20. b.2.a.
StAWF, 12 A Neu Fb. 4C 143; 12 A Neu Fb. 211 B 4, vols land 2, 13, 15; 133 Neu
2196; 34 N Fb. l No xx1 15.
Past and Present 50 (1971) pp. 76-136.
E.g. the abuse of a servant girl by her master in Hanover 1832; The Augsburg
'Allgemeine Zeitung' ( AAZ) No. 270, 296, 1832.
StAHB 2-D-l7.b.4.
On the situation in general, R. Riirup, Emanzipation und Antisemitismus: Studien
45
zur 'Judenfrage' der biirgerlichen Gesel/schaft (Gottingen, 1977) pp. 22, 57, 76fT.;
25.
48fT., 89.
HStAH, Hann. 74 Herzberg K 91; StAWF, 12 A Neu Fb. 2 II B 3, 4.
Existing or threatened unemployment was the cause of protest in Brunswick,
Wolfenbfittel and Holzminden in the winter of 1830/31; Zentrales Staatsarchiv
(State Archives) Merseburg (DZM), Rep. 77 Tit. 509 No. 8vol. l; StAWF, 12 A
Neu Fb. 2 B 4, 6, 14. Wage disputes resulted in protest among diggers in
Hamburg, building workers in Bremerhaven, dykers in Varel and Norden and on
various railway construction sites; StAHH, Hann. Des. 80 Hann. I Ba 100;
Staatsarchiv (State Archives) of Lower Saxony, Aurich, (StAAUR), Rep. 6 No
10499, 10505; Rep. 32 a No. 619; AAZ No. 287 (13 Oct. 1844); No. 295 (22 Oct.
1845).
28. Cf. R. Fremdling, Eisenbahnbau und deutsches Wirtschaftswachstum 1840-1879.
26.
27.
ticular pp. 74fT., 225; F.-W. Schaer, 'Zur wirtschaftlichen und sozialen Lage der
46
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
Hans-Gerhard Husung
Deicharbeiter an der oldenburgisch-ostfriesischen Kiiste in der vorindustriellen
Gesellschaft' in Niedersiichsisches Jb 45 (1973) pp. 115-44.
In 1833 in the Kingdom of Hanover even less than 0.1 per cent of the population
was employed in factories with over 10 employees; only 21 steam engines were in
operation at the end of the 1830s; F. W. v. Reden, Das Konigreich Hannover
statistisch beschrieben (with particular reference to agriculture, trade and
industry), 2 vols (Hanover, 1839) Vol. I, pp. 300-1, 3l0ff.; K. H. Kaufhold,
'Entstehung, Entwicklung und Gliederung der gewerblichen Arbeiterschaft in
Nordwestdeutschland 1800-1875' in H. Kellenbenz (ed.), Wirtschaftspolitik und
Arbeitsmarkt (Munich, 1974) pp. 69-85, with particular reference to State
measures. The abolition of 'machines in factories' was called for in 1830 in
Eilenburg; DZM, 2.2.1. No. 15012; the violent obstruction of shipping in Syke
was directed against the replacement of human energy by animals in the hauling
of ships; AAZ Beil. 121 (1831). On the storming of machinery in the province of
the Rhine, see D. Dowe, Aktion und Organisation: Arbeiterbewegung, sozialistische und kommunistische Bewegung in der preuBischen Rheinprovinz 1820-1852,
(Hanover, 1970), p. 25ff.; a summary can also be found in E. Todt and H.
Radant, Zur Friihgeschichte der Deutschen Gewerkschaftsbewegung 1800-1849
(East Berlin, 1950) pp. 86-7.
Cf. Thompson, 'Moral Economy'.
StAHH, Protocollum Senatus Hamburgensis (1847) No. I; Patronat St.Pauli II
A 7596; AAZ No. 172 (21 June); No. 174 (23 June 1847). On the price movement
see J. G. Gallois, Geschichte der Stadt Hamburg, vol. 3, (Hamburg, 1855) p. 275.
See DZM, 2.2.1. No 16413, 16448. Also J. Stevenson, 'Food Riots in England,
1792-1818' in Quinault and Stevenson (eds), pp. 33-74, which clearly illustrates
that protest was distributed in accordance with London's 'supply lines'. In
general Thompson, 'Moral Economy', pp. 76-136.
On these activities see StA WF, 39 Neu 4 46; 126 Neu 4298; 12 A Neu Fb. 13n
48833; StAAUR, Rep. 21 a No 2424; Staatsarchiv (State Archives) of Lower
Saxony, Osnabriick (StAOS), Rep. 300 No 1007, 1008; W. Abel, Massenarmut
und Hungerkrisen im vorindustriel/en Europa: Versuch einer Synopsis (Hamburg,
Berlin, 1974) pp. 383, 420ff.
In general on the Prussian example: Ludtke, Praxis; A. Liidtke, 'Die "gestiirkte
Hand" des Staates: Zur Entwicklung staatlicher Gewaltsamkeit -das Beispiel
Preuf3en im 19. Jahrhundert', in Leviathan 2 (1979) pp. 199-226; Volkmann, Krise,
pp. 143ff.; Tilly, Disorders, pp. 22-3. On the prestige question, cf. J. Callief3
Militiir in der Krise: Die bayrische Armee in der Revoluti~n 1848/49
(Boppard/Rhine 1976) in particular pp. 48ff.
DZM, 2.4.1. No 8172; StAHH, Cl. VII Lit. Me no. 12 vol. 4; Details on the
victims in AAZ Beil. No. 261 (1830).
Ibid.; StAHH, Polizeibeh.-Kriminalw. C. No. 574 (1831); StAHB, 2-D-20.b.2.a.
StAAUR, Dep. LX880; the Ministry of the Interior however demanded energetic
proceedings; HStAH, Hann. Des. 80 Hann. lA 654.
StAHH, Polizeibeh.-Kriminalw. C. No. 354 (1821); No. 575 (1831); No. 1807
(1836); Leipziger Allgemeine Zeitung No. 301 (27 Oct. 1840); K. Helm, Die
bremischen Holzarbeiter vom 16. bis zur Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts (Bremen,
1911) pp. 37-8.
The position of the Arnsberg government was in contrast to this and typical for
the situation in Prussia: the old guilds had been disbanded; the relationship
between journeymen and masters was solely that of an employment contract.
Journeymen now belonged to the 'class of other working classes'; Staatsarchiv
(State Archives) of Koblenz, Reg. Arnsberg No I 181.
47
Cf. StAAUR, Rep. 6 No 10499; Rep. 32a No 619; DZM, 2.2.1. No 15012. In
general Liidtke, Praxis p. 200.
41. This is how the Gottingen 'Gemeinderat' was persuaded to capitulate; subsequently there was no resistance to the occupation of the town for which 4,500
infantrymen, 600 cavalrymen and 10 cannons had been assembled from the
Gottingen area. HStAH, Hann. Des. 92 XLI 137 vol. I. In general, Volkmann,
Krise, p. 149.
42. The Hesse provinces of Hanau and Fulda were particularly affected; ibid. p. 95ff.,
190.
43. Cf. M. Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, ed. J. Winkelmann, 2 vols., 5th
edition (Tiibingen, 1976) here vol. I, pp. 29-30, 361; vol. 2, pp. 516, 822. Further
on the problem of legitimacy and the significance of protest experience,
Thompson, 'Moral Economy', esp. pp. 78, 95; D. V. J. Bell, Resistance and
Revolution (Boston, 1973) esp. pp. 77ff.; Volkmann, Krise, pp. 52, 98; H. Medick,
'Die protoindustrielle Familienwirtschaft', in P. Kriedtke et al., Industrialisierung
vor der lndustrialisierung: Gewerbliche Warenproduktion auf dem Land in der
Formationsphase des Kapitalismus (Gottingen, 1977) pp. 90-154, here p. 52; K.
Gerteis, 'Regionale Bauernrevolten: Eine Bestandsaufnahme', in Zeitschrift fur
Historische Forschung 6 (1979), pp. 37-62, esp. p. 55.
44. Cf. U. Widmeier, Politische Gewaltanwendung als Problem der Organisation von
lnteressen (Meisenheim am Glan, 1978) esp. pp. 11-12, 37, 78.
49
the original nucleus; 7 in addition there were around 500 people in the
provinces, 8 who at the height of its power were grouped around the
'executive committee', plus an estimated 3--4,000 sympathisers, especially
among the student youth.
Narodnaya Volya's revolutionary techniques and achievements were not lost
on future generations of revolutionaries. Lenin's concept of a 'new type of
party', characterised by professionalism, 'democratic centralism' and using
'front organisations' and sympathisers etc., was directly derived from the
techniques developed by Narodnaya Vo/ya. They may indeed even have had
their effect on Hitler, who had been familiar at least indirectly, by way of
the Okhrana forgery of the 'Protocols of the Elders of Zion', with
the narodnovo/tsy's (members of Narodnaya Vo/ya) organisational concepts. 9
With the assassination of the tsar, the Narodnaya Vo/ya had expended itself
without being able to derive any tangible political profit from it. The murder
of Alexander II (1855-81) -probably the best tsar of modem Russia -might
be seen as politically totally unreasonable for it was the prelude to the reaction
which set in under his successor, Alexander III (1881-94) that cost the radical
intelligentsia many of its ablest representatives.
Yet in another sense the narodnovoltsy were eminently successful: they
initiated the active confrontation between Russian society and the State. And
they did, under Loris-Melikov's 'dictatorship of the heart' (1880), in a race
against time, forestall limited reforms. From then on, the autocracy knew that
reforms would be interpreted as a sign of weakness; indeed that reforms would
by themselves lead to revolution. The radical intelligentsia, on the other hand,
retained a vivid memory of the revolutionary heroes and martyrs that made
any co-operation with the old State appear as treason.
The victory of Pobedonostsev's reactionary line over proposals for liberalisation by the more enlightened members of the higher bureaucracy was in
essence already a victory for narodnichestvo over constitutionalism, liberalism,
political modernisation and a more middle-class way of life. Thus, under
Alexander III, the work of the great reforms (emancipation of the serfs,
increased administrative autonomy, legal reform) was halted instead of being
completed in the direction of granting society genuine political participation.
At a time when industrialisation in Russia began to take off rapidly,
Alexander III returned to the principles ofhis grandfather, Nicholas I (182555)- autocracy, orthodoxy, nationality- principles that had already been put
in question by the Crimean War.
Narodnaya Volya thus made its decisive contribution in the prevention of
the urgently required reconciliation between State and Society in Russia. This
in tum increased the instability of the old regime. In this sense Narodnaya
Volya's terror represented a milestone on the road to revolution that led
directly to 1905 and 1917, however little the Bolshevic revolution may have
corresponded to the notions of the older revolutionaries.
50
51
their faith, to 'reconnoitre', to get to know this 'sphynx', the people; to live
'decently', that is to say as workers, and finally also to stir up the people by
'lightning propaganda' from 'zero to infinite' (D. Rogachev). 19
The movement ended in fiasco. The government did not sit idly by while the
propagandists attempted to 'Proudhonise and Lassallise' the country, evidently bent on undermining the old civilisation completely. The entire police
apparatus went into action and there followed mass arrests. Very soon the
narodniki had only just over a dozen men left at large among the people. 'We
were literally beaten by the government', as V. Debogory-Mokrievich
recorded. 20
The second attempt to popularise Western socialism and to create a basis of
trust by 'settling' among the people was not much more successful. The
confrontation with the State spared the narodniki from making an assessment
of their defeat in all its implications. In a sense they had been defeated by the
very people they fought for (V. Figner). 21 Western socialism bounced off the
Russian peasants 'like a pea off a wall' (S. Kravchinsky). 22 The people were
politically apathetic and met their 'benefactors' with mistrust. By 1876
morale in the radical camp was low: emigration increased, many were
attracted to Serbia and Herzegovina, where they gathered their first combat
experience in the service of the 'slav question'.
The government's pcrlicy helped the revolutionaries. In April 1877 Russia
declared war against Turkey. Once again the weakness and inefficiency of the
old regime fully revealed themselves. The peace of San Stefano was followed
by the Berlin Congress (1878), which was felt to be a grave diplomatic defeat.
In society oppositional and constitutional voices were raised: the famous
publicist N. K. Mikhailovsky even predicted the emergence of a 'secret
committee of public safety'. 23
1877 was also the very year in which a number of great political trials took
place, notably the so-called trial of the 193 (members of the movement 'Back
among the people') which significantly contributed to the formation of
precisely the kind of social-revolutionary party whose spectre the government
sought to banish. The terror began with the shot Vera Zasulich fired at the
commanding officer of St Petersburg, F. F. Trepov, on 24 January 1878, the
day after the conclusion of the 'trial of the 193' (in order to avenge the flogging
of a radical student). The enthusiastic reception of her acquittal by jury- the
latter had rejected the mere fact of attempted murder -was bound to make it
appear that society approved of terror.
Terror, however, made one thing clear: the radicals were not principally
waging war against social injustice or the threat of incipient capitalism, but
against the State.
This perception had already gained ground in the early 1870s in the South,
under the influence of the Zemstvo-Movement and the Ukrainian nationalists.
The aims, however, which V. Osinsky proposed to the Council of Zemlya i
Volya (Land and Freedom) in the winter of 1877 ;78 were frustrated by the
opposition of such orthodox narodniki as Plekhanov, who were not prepared
52
to let the radicals get 'the chestnuts out of the fire' for the liberals and thus, as
they saw it, simply work towards the rise of the bourgeoisie.
Osinsky, with the approval of Alexander Mikhailov, returned south early
in 1878 in order to test the possibilities and limitations of terrorism in Kiev. On
23 February 1878 he attempted to assassinate public prosecutor Kotlyarevsky; on 24 May there followed G. Popko's attempt on the life of Baron
Heyking, the town's police chief. (Both were known for their liberalism and
were thus far from being embodiments of an autocratic regime of terror.)
With this the name of a (fictitious) 'executive committee' of an alleged 'socialrevolutionary party' gained some prominence. (The links with Nechaev's
Narodnaya rasprava- People's Revenge- are evident.) At the same time,
Osinsky, the 'Apollo of the Revolution', with his daring and his manifest
death wish, gave terrorism an aura of romanticism, which was heightened
further by his arrest and execution in 1879; under the impression of his
testament, the 'executive committee' of what was to become Narodnaya Volya
was formed in Lipetsk in 1879.
Meanwhile those in the capital had evidently no desire to lag behind the
provinces. On 4 August, two days after the execution of I. M. Kovalsky in
Odessa (who had been the first to offer armed resistance against his arrest)
S. Kravchinsky (Stepnyak) murdered the Chief of Section III, N. V.
Mezenchev, in broad daylight on the Nevsky Prospect and was able to escape
abroad. In his brochure 'Smert za smert' (a death for a death) he already
justified the assassination in purely political terms: until political freedom was
granted the radicals would continue their acts of terror. This created a
profound impression. Secretary of State P. A. Valuev, one of the most
intelligent statesmen of his day, already felt that the 'ground was shaking
under one's feet'.
In effect, Mezenchev's assassination was followed by a wave of arrests,
which almost numbered amongst its victims also the (second) Zemlya i Volya
that had been formed in 1876/77 under the leadership of Natanson. The
reconstitution of the organisation in October 1878 was primarily the work of
Alexander Mikhailov, one of the great organisers in Russian revolutionary
history. For the populists this meant a turning point, since their hitherto
diffuse movement now acquired a tight central organisation. Linked to this
was a return, in a sense, to the conspiratorial political activities of the 1860s, as
it were on a higher level.
Under Mikhailov, the spirit of political terrorism gained ground. It was
reflected in the organisation's new statutes and in its programme, which then
listed the 'disorganisation of the state' amongst its declared aims. 24
This resulted in tensions vis-a-vis the orthodox propagandists. Terrorism
began to claim the movement's human and financial resources to an
increasing degree. The propagandists, however, were also made to pay in their
work 'among the people'. Hardly had they achieved their first results and
'bang! the intelligentsia goes and eliminates someone and everything is
destroyed again', complained Khalturin, co-founder of the North-Russian
Workers' Association. 'If only they'd give us some time ... ' 25
53
54
which had been the response to Solovev's attempt of 1879- was not leading
anywhere. In the bureaucracy's top echelons old constitutional projects of the
time of the Great Reforms were revived. This marked the beginning of LorisMelikov's 'dictatorship of the heart' (Katkov). Originally conceived as purely
repressive, it attempted, up to August 1880, by a clever combination of
selective repression and reasonable concessions towards society, to create a
'vacuum' around the revolutionaries, in seeking to overcome the disastrous
passivity of the moderate majority in the country. This new approach was not
without success. In the face of this incipient 'betrayal by the liberals' began the
narodovoltsy's race against time; they now tried to forestall reforms which,
while falling far short of their own ideas, would nevertheless endanger their
revolution.
On 1(13) March 1881 Alexander II met his fate. It was precisely the day on
which the tsar had signed Loris-Melikov's draft of a proto-constitution. But
as Zhelyabov had anticipated, with this deed the revolutionaries had in effect
shot their bolt. Alexander Mikhailov had already been arrested at the end of
November 1880. At the turn of the year they lost N. Kletochnikov, their agent
in Section III, to whom they largely owed their sensational successes; on 27
February, the eve of the assassination, the police apprehended the man who
was probably the most important among the terrorists, A. I. Zhelyabov.
The 'Executive Committee' -or what was left of it- had not even been
properly prepared for a successful attempt: an entire week went by before the
letter to the successor, written by Tikhomirov (with the stylistic assistance
of N. K. Mikhailovsky), was published. This document- 'of cunning
moderation' (K. Marx) 28 -merely demanded the 'legalising of the supreme
power', since 'we possess no government in the true sense'. 29 Not one word
about revolutionary aims. And in effect the true addressee of this letter,
several thousand copies of which were distributed, was liberal society. This,
however, was the last time that a common front was made with the liberals -a
line which Mikhailov and Zhelyabov had advocated.
During the period of decline, the Executive Committee fell to the leadership
of the 'jacobins': the concept of conspiracy and coup -which, in the last
analysis, was the true raison d'etre of terrorism -gained the upper hand.
The aim of terror had been, after all, that in the imagination of the people
the party should replace the tsar 'as the symbol of power and legitimacy' (Tikhomirov). 30 The fact that, after the destruction of Narodnaya Volya's Moscow branch in the autumn of 1881, the military organisation was left as the 'party's' main prop further militated in the direction of
'Blanquism'.
In the middle of 1882 Tichomirov, the party's ideologist, also emigrated.
This in effect spelled the end of the 'Executive Committee'. There remained
V. Figner, the 'Venus of the Revolution', who had retired to the South; as a
result of Degayev's denunciation, she was arrested in Kharkov in February
1883. With Degayev's betrayal, the 'party' became an instrument of the police.
55
III
56
57
58
59
Narodnaya Volya's aims may have been democratic, but they were certainly
not liberal: the Executive Committee in its letter to Alexander III consistently
argued that even civil liberties were merely a 'provisional measure' until the
constituent assembly had been called. 52 The members of the party saw
themselves essentially in the role of the historical jacobins at the head of a
revolutionary popular movement: it was no accident that the phrase 'the year
1793 of the Russian peasants' was reiterated time and again. They assumed
that no other organised social forces able to oppose them would remain.
Indeed, the 'jacobins' among the narodnovoltsy went further and argued that
already the provisional government would have to carry out the actual
political and social revolution, which would then merely remain to be
sanctioned by a national assembly -a national assembly, moreover, that was
to be kept free of opposition elements. In the meantime all one could demand,
according to Tikhomirov, was the 'appeal to the people' ... 'But we need not
now broadcast to all the world what we want to achieve with this appeal.' 53
Of course, not all the members of the organisation were in agreement with
such a programme. In the eyes of the narodniki, who were not least pupils also
of Proudhon, jacobinism was purely and simply the revolutionary Fall of
Man. At least it did possess political consistency.
These debates show how little Narodnaya Vo/ya's fight against the old
regime reflected the aspirations of the socially under-privileged classes
themselves. The progressive Delo in the end went so far as to denounce terror
as 'being based on narrow party interests', as 'self-interested and hostile to the
people'. 5 4 The oppositional 'Young Narodnaya Vo/ya party', which formed
around the middle-class poet P. F. Yakubovich in the winter of 1883 in St.
Petersburg, regarded terror as the main and immediate reason for Narodnaya
volya's failure: it had alienated the party from the people. 55 The 'Young party'
therefore advocated (as Plekhanov had done before) an allegedly more
populist economic (as opposed to political) terror.
In brief, the rise of Narodnaya Volya stemmed precisely from the
recognition that the revolution they desired possessed no social base, or that at
best the people might have to be manipulated. Ever since the Great Reforms
the number of recorded peasant disturbances had in fact declined drastically;
at the height of these disturbances their incidence had been twenty times
greater. 56 The gathering movement of an emergent urban industrial proletariat that followed in the wake of the industrial crisis of the early 1880s did
not, for the time being, alter this picture in any essential way, even though this
development prompted the narodnovoltsy in 1882/83 to tum towards the
workers. The Great Reforms, for all their half-heartedness, had stabilised the
old regime for years to come and this was the reason why revolutionary
populism failed. 57
Narodnaya Volya was an organisation of the young intelligentsia, a kind of
new middle class, consisting of raznochintsy (intellectuals who had abandoned their original class) and the lower gentry. But even such men of the
60
people as Zhelyabov (who had still grown up as a serf), S. Shiryaev (also from
a peasant family) and M. Frolenko (the son of a washerwoman) had received
an education which raised them socially and intellectually above their origins.
In reality, Narodnaya Volya had engaged in a duel with the autocracy, based
on the recosnition that the party's strength was simply insufficient for other
efforts of propaganda, enlightenment or social work 'among the people'. In
addition, there arose a new impatience to take part in determining the fate of
the country: Zhelyabov, for instance, wished expressly to give history a 'push',
in order to hurry it along.
In Narodnaya Volya's 'heroic period', personalities, their aims and passions,
played a decisive part. And without taking radical ideology into account, the
motivations that led to terror would be difficult to comprehend. The
autocracy, with its policy of hesitant ruthlessness -either too harsh or not
harsh enough -contributed to the rise of terrorism, by merely alienating
society without being able to liquidate the revolutionary opposition. The
system itself was the reason that an extreme minority could appear as the sole
voice of social interests and aspirations and thus acquire disproportionate
political weight. The autocracy screened the intelligentsia from the experiences and disappointments of practical politics and thus nourished their
maximalism. The 'autocrator' virtually offered himself as a target for their
terror, since it was this institution which promoted the hope that the whole
system might be destroyed at one stroke. Through its policies, the government
created a number of prophets, martyrs and heroes, who made a great
impression on the young and on the following generations, particularly at the
time of their trials, not least because these men possessed considerable
charisma. (This may explain why Stalin made sure that the defendants in
political trials made a confession of their guilt.) The Russian political system
fostered a 'patented heroism', for which only the 'heroic maximum' could
suffice, as S. Bulgakov wrote in Vekhi, when he presented his reckoning with
the radical traditions. In this connection it is significant that, even in the case
of the narodnovoltsy, confrontation with the realities did not only give rise to
jacobinism, but also to a new gradualism, to a new sense of the feasible, which
prompted the realistic attitude of the 1880s, before the great hunger of 1891
revived the radical spirit once more, this time in the form of Marxism. When at
the beginning of the new century large-scale peasant disturbances occurred,
the tradition of militant populism reappeared in a new guise as well, this time
in the shape of the Socialist-Revolutionary Party.
NOTES
1.
The entire nexus of Russian revolutionary ideologies and movements during the
nineteenth century, in terms of their specific political aims and implications,
particularly the controversies about a possible revolutionary dictatorship, has
been the subject of my book, Die Urspriinge des Bolschewismus. Die jakobinische
61
Tradition in Ru61and und die Theorie der revolutioniiren Diktatur (Munich, 1977).
2. T. Szamuely in R. Conquest (ed.), The Russian Tradition (London, 1974) p. 341.
3. Ibid., p. 339.
4. Y. Trifonov, Neterpenie: Povest' ob Andree Zhelyabove (Moscow, 1973) p. 329. (I
am grateful to M. Hildermeier for having introduced me to this, from the
historical point of view, excellent story.)
5. K. Marx and F. Engels, Foreword to the second Russian edition of the
Communist Manifesto, in: Werke, 4th edn., vol. 19 (Berlin, 1962) p. 296.
6. S. S. Yolk, Narodnaya volya: 1879-1882 (Moscow-Leningrad, 1966) p. 96.
7. 0. Y. Aptekman, Ob~estvo 'Zemlja i volja' 70-ch godov. Po li~nym
vospominanijam. 2-e, ispravlennoe i zna~itel'no dopolnennoe izdanie (Petrograd,
1924) p. 199.
8. Yolk, p. 277.
9. A. Hitler, Mein Kampf, 2 vols. in one, 66th edn. (Munich, 1933) p. 337. Cf. R.
Lowenthal, 'The Model of the Totalitarian State', in Royal Institute of
International Affairs (ed. ), The Impact of the Russian Revolution, 1917-1967: The
Influence of Bolshevism on the World Outside Russia, (LondonfNew York/
Toronto, 1967) pp. 274-351, esp. p. 11.
10. A. I. Gercen (Herzen), 'Pis'ma iz Francii i Italii', in Y. P. Yolgin eta/. (eds)
Sobranie so~inenij v devjati tomach, vol. 3 (Moscow, 1955-8) p. 279. On the
attitude of the main representatives of the intelligentsia to revolution and
violence, cf. v. Borcke, chapter 5, pp. 139-228.
11. D. I. Pisarev, 'Skholastika XIX veka', in SoNnenija v ~etyrech tomach, vol. 1
(Moscow, 1955-6) p. 135.
12. N. G. {:emykvskij, Cto de/at'? lz rasskazov o novych ljudjach (Moscow, 1960)
p. 279.
13. P. N. Tkarev in B. P. Koz'min (ed.), lzbrannye so~inenija na social'no-politi"teskie
temy, vol. 1 (Moscow, 1932-7) p. 192.
14. P. L. Lavrov, 'Istorireskie pis'ma', in: Filoso.fija i sociologija. lzbrannye proizvedenija v dvuch tomach, vol. 2 (Moscow, 1965) p. 121.
15. M. Confino (ed.}, Daughter of a Revolutionary. Natalie Herzen and the BakuninNechayev Circle (London, 1974) pp. 25, 244.
16. On the Nechaev affair see v. Borcke, chapter 7, pp. 281-326.
17. M.P. Dragomanov (ed.), Pis'ma M.A. Bakunina k A. I. Gercenu iN. P. Ogarevu
(Geneva, 1896) p. 468.
18. M. A. Bakunin in A. Lehning (ed.), Gosudarstvennost' i anarchija. Archives
Bakounine, vol. 3 (Leyden, 1967).
19. For particulars see v. Borcke, pp. 369-72.
20. Y. Debogorij-Mokrievil!, Vospominanija (St. Petersburg, 1906) p. 162.
21. Y. N. Figner, Zape~atlennyj trud: Vospominanija v dvuch tomach, vol. l (Moscow,
1964) p. 135.
22. Krasnyj archiv 6/19 (1926) p. 196.
23. Letu~ij listok 2 (April 1878), in S. N. Yalk et a/. (eds.}, Revoljucionnoe
narodnttestvo 70-ch godov XIX veka: Sbornik dokumentov i materialov v dvuch
tomach, vol. 2 (Moscow-Leningrad, 1964-5) p. 57.
24. Cf. Programma 'Zemli i voli', ibid., vol. 2, p. 33; Tezisy narodnikov, ibid., vol. 2,
p. 34.
25. Aptekman, p. 392.
26. S. N. Yalk (ed.), 'Avtobiografireskoe zajav1enie A. A. Kvjatkovskogo', in:
Krasnyj archiv 1/14 (1926) p. 169.
27. G. Y. Plekhanov, 'Socializm i politi~skaja bor'ba', in lzbrannye .filosofskie
poizvedenija v pjati tomach, vol. l (Moscow, 1956) p. 52.
62
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
64
Maureen Perrie
which existed in Russia and in emigration at the turn of the century. The SRs
were the chief socialist rivals of the Russian Social Democrats (SDs), who had
held their First Congress in 1898, and who split into the Bolshevik and
Menshevik factions at their Second Congress in 1903. Viktor Chernov, the
party's main theoretician, derived the SRs' ideological heritage both from
Marx and from the Russian Populists, especially Lavrov and Mikhailovsky.
The socialism of the SRs differed from that of the SDs in several important
respects. In the first place the SRs, while accepting the concept of the class
struggle, rejected the SDs' identification of the 'working class' with the
industrial proletariat. In SR theory the working class was a broad alliance of
the exploited -including the socialist intelligentsia and the small peasant and
artisan producers as well as the industrial and agricultural proletariat -who
were united in the struggle for socialism against the exploiting classes, the
landowners, bourgeoisie and bureaucracy. The SRs also differed from the SDs
in their assessment of the character of the forthcoming Russian revolution:
while accepting a two-stage perspective of the transition to socialism, the SRs
rejected the SDs' term 'bourgeois-democratic' for the first stage of the
revolution, believing that in agriculture at least the revolution would be anticapitalist as well as anti-feudal. 3 The SR party programme, approved by the
First Congress in January 1906, followed the SD pattern of a minimum and
maximum programme, but the minimum programme incorporated, in
addition to the c<>nventional socialist demands for political, social and
economic reforms, the demand for the 'socialisation' of the land. Socialisation
of the land was a complex concept: private property in land was to be
abolished; the land was to be administered by democratically elected organs of
local and central government; and the land was to be used on an egalitarian
basis by those who worked it themselves. 4 The socialisation ofland was seen
by the SRs as a major measure against the entrenchment of agrarian
capitalism in Russia, and hence an important step against Russian capitalism
in general.
The SRs differed from the SDs also in the use of tactics. Like many of their
Populist predecessors, but unlike the SDs, the SRs favoured the use of
terrorist tactics in the struggle against tsarism. Initially terrorism for the SRs
meant political terrorism. From 1904, however, the question of 'economic'
terror arose to confront the party. Debates over political and economic terror
caused tensions and splits in the party during the revolutionary years 1905-6.
In the course of these debates many important issues were raised concerning
the value and significance of terrorist tactics, and the relationship between
terrorism and the mass movement.
I
The terrorism practised by the SRs in the first years of the party's existence
was regarded by them as a continuation of the terrorist traditions of
65
Narodnaya Volya (People's Will), the Populist party, formed in 1879, which
had assassinated Alexander II in 1881. But not all of the neo-populist groups
which united to form the SR party in 1901 shared Narodnaya Volya's view of
terrorism: some belonged instead to the rival Chernyi Peredel (Black
Partition) traditiod of Russian Populism, with its stress on mass agitation
among the workers and peasants.~ On 14 February 1901 a former student,
P. V. Karpovich, assassinated the Minister of Education, N. P. Bogolepov,
who had been responsible for the suppression of student disorders in the
universities in 1899-1901. Although Karpovich called himself a socialistrevolutionary, he acted as an individual, independently of any party or group
control. Nevertheless, the success of Karpovich's action strengthened the
position of the terrorist faction within the newly-formed party. In 1901 the
party formed its Combat Organisation, under the leadership of G. A.
Gershuni. The first terrorist act organised by the Combat Organisation was
the assassination of Minister of Internal Affairs D. S. Sipyagin in St.
Petersburg on 2 April 1902 by Stepan Balmashev. This was followed by the
wounding of Prince Obolensky, the governor of Kharkov province, on
29 July 1902, by Foma Kachurov. On 6 May 1903, N. M. Bogdanovich, the
governor of Ufa, was killed by Egor Dulebov. Soon after the assassination of
Bogdanovich, Gershuni was arrested: he was replaced as head of the Combat
Organisation by Evno Azef, an agent provocateur in the employ of the tsarist
security police. On 15 July 1904 the party accomplished its most spectacular
terrorist act with the assassination ofPlehve, the Minister of Internal Affairs, in
St. Petersburg, by a group including Egor Sazonov. Equally successful was the
murder of the Grand Duke Sergei in Moscow, on 4 February 1905, by a bomb
thrown by Ivan Kalaev. 6
In the early years the SR party's attitude towards terrorism was somewhat
defensive, and articles in the party press justifying the use of terrorist tactics
were concerned to defend terrorism against criticism, especially from the
Russian Social Democrats, and also from Western European socialists. 7 The
party leadership argued that terrorism was necessary and inevitable, in the
context of government repression of the growing mass movement, as a means
of self-defence by the masses. The SRs produced two further justifications for
terrorism. Firstly, it had an 'excitative' or agitational function- that is, a
terrorist act attracted attention and provoked discussion, thereby serving to
popularise the cause which it was intended to further. In the second place,
terrorism created fear and disorganisation in the ranks of the government. But
on this second point the SRs added some qualifications: terrorism was most
effective when it was integrated with other forms of revolutionary action, such
as the mass movement of workers and peasants. The SRs stressed the need for
the organisation and control of terrorist action: it was the role of the party to
integrate terrorism with the other forms of revolutionary activity. 8 The
organisation of SR terrorist activity, however. was separate from that of the
party as a whole. From its foundation, the Combat Organisation enjoyed
66
Maureen Perrie
considerable autonomy within the party, and its independence of the Central
Committee was considerably enhanced in 1904, in the aftermath of the
assassination of Plehve. 9 The organisational separation of terrorism from the
rest of the party's activity was justified in terms of the 'division oflabour' and
the need for secrecy and conspiracy, 10 but it created problems of control for
the party leadership.
In 1905, with the outbreak of the mass revolutionary movement, acts of
political terrorism moved from a predominantly 'central' to a 'local' level. 11
The party itself increased its membership, and many local committees formed
their own terrorist groups, which were variously known as 'combat bands'
(boevye druzhiny) or 'flying combat detachments' (letuchie boevye otryady ).
The revolutionary movement of 1905 achieved its greatest success with the
publication of the Tsar's Manifesto of 17 October which promised full civil
liberties and the election of a legislative assembly, the State Duma. Although
this concession fell short of the Constituent Assembly demanded by the
revolutionary parties, it was sufficiently important to cause the parties to
reassess their tactics. The SR Central Committee decided to disband the
Combat Organisation, on the grounds that it was no longer necessary ndw
that political freedom had been achieved. 12 Although 'central' terror was
suspended, many local committees continued to organise and carry out
terrorist acts. 13 The suspension of central terror itself was to prove shortlived.
By the end of 1905 the counter-revolutionary offensive by the government was
in the ascendant, and the promised political freedom seemed very elusive. The
First Congress of the SR party, which met in Finland from 29 December 1905
to 4 January 1906, resolved to resume political terrorism at both central and
local levels, and the Combat Organisation was re-formed. 14
Although the SRs boycotted the elections to the First Duma, terrorist
activity was again temporarily suspended, by a resolution of the First Party
Council in May 1906, to coincide with tlie opening of the Duma, 'until the
political position and the tactics of the government are more fully clarified for
the mass of the population'. 15 Again, the suspension was not adhered to by all
locar committees, and even some acts of 'central' terror continued. 16 When
the Duma was prematurely dissolved by the government on 9 July 1906,
however, terrorism was again resumed. 17 In February 1907 the Second Party
Congress met to consider the party's attitude to the Second Duma. Having
decided to participate in the Duma, the SRs nonetheless resolved to continue
with terrorism, but to place, as a temporary measure, all central and local
terrorist acts under the control of the Central Committee. 18 The early
dissolution of the Second Duma in June 1907 saved the SRs from the problems
which would undoubtedly have arisen for a party which sent deputies to the
Duma and at the same time conducted terrorist acts against the government.
Various reorganisations of the SR terrorist bodies took place in 1906-7. In
October 1906, after the failure of the Combat Organisation to assassinate their
chief target, Stolypin, the Chairman of the Council of Ministers, Azef and his
67
chief aide Boris Savinkov resigned from the leadership of the Combat
Organisation, which was re-formed as the 'Combat Detachment of the
Central Committee', headed by Lev Zilberberg, and under the close control of
the Central Committee. 19 At the end of 1907, however, the old Combat
Organisation was reinstated, under the leadership of Azef, who undertook to
organise the assassination of the Tsar. 20 At the end of 1908, however, Azef
was unmasked as an agent provocateur. The effect on party morale was
shattering. The Fifth Party Council, which met in May 1909 to assess the
implications of the 'Azef affair', decided to continue with terrorism, but to
grant greater autonomy to the combat detachments of local party
committees. 21 The new Combat Organisation was headed by Savinkov; but in
practice very few terrorist acts were accomplished by the SRs in the years
before the war. 22
In the years 1907-14 the question of terror caused divisions in the party. On
the left, the group which published the journal Revolyutsionnaya Mysl'
(Revolutionary Thought) demanded the return to a more exclusive use of
terrorism, including regicide, on the pattern of Narodnaya Volya. On the right,
the group associated with the paper Pochin (Initiative) wished to abandon
terrorism and conspiratorial organisation. 23
In 1914 the SR party published an interesting compilation of statistics
relating to the party's acts of political terror. Intended as a contribution to the
debate on terrorism in the aftermath of the Azef affair, these statistics showed,
according to the compiler, 'that terror exists, develops and is nourished by the
mass movement'. 24 This, he believed, was demonstrated by the increase in the
number of terrorist acts in the years 1905-7 (Table 6.1). An analysis of
the social composition of the terrorists might also suggest that SR terrorism
was integrated with the mass movement- more than half of the terrorists were
workers (Table 6.2). 25 This conclusion may be modified, however, if one notes
that most of these terrorists were very young at the time they made their
TABLE 6.1: SR Terrorist Acts, 1902-11
Year
No. of acts
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
2
3
l
51
78
62
3
2
1
2
Total
205
68
Maureen Perrie
TABLE 6.2:
Occupations of SR Terrorists
Occupation
No.
90
Worker
Intellectual
Peasant
Student
School-pupil
Teacher
Soldier
Sailor
37
20
13
lO
2
2
Officer
Doctor
Total
179
TABLE 6.3:
Age of SR Terrorists
Age
No.
15-19
20-24
25-29
30-34
35-39
over 40
Total
16
33
ll
9
3
73
69
Central Committee, oflocal combat groups from their local party committees,
and of the latter from the Central Committee, made it difficult for the party
leadership to exercise control over terror. The conspiratorial character of the
party's organisation intensified this problem, and rendered the Combat
Organisation fatally vulnerable to police infiltration. The party's only
response to this problem was to make endless attempts to reorganise its
terrorist activity, but these appear to have had little practical effect. The
inability of the leadership to exercise control is hardly surprising in the light of
the party's circumstances before 1914: the organisation in Russia was illegal,
and the party leaders were mostly in emigration. But since the SRs believed
that terror was justified only in the absence of political freedom, it is difficult to
see how they could have avoided this dilemma.
The impossibility of central control of terror was clearly demonstrated on
the two occasions when the Central Committee attempted to suspend
terrorism, after the October Manifesto of 1905, and at the opening of the First
Duma in 1906, when the suspension was virtually ignored by the local terrorist
organisations. Local terror in 1905-7 may have represented a popular form of
revolutionary activity, but the gain in terms of the integration of terror with
the mass movement was outweighed by the loss of that central party control
which represented a major justification of terrorism in the eyes of the SR
leadership.
In fact one may argue that SR terrorism was more effective in the years
1902-4, when the mass movement was only in its early stages, than in the
revolutionary years 1905-7. The victims of 1902-4 were well chosen to
symbolise repression by the state. There is evidence that the assassinations of
Sipyagin and Bogdanovich gained some popular support for the SRs. 28 The
murders ofPleve and the Grand Duke Sergei led directly to concessions by the
Tsarist government: Pleve was replaced as Minister of Internal Affairs by the
comparatively liberal Prince Svyatopolk-Mirsky; and an announcement of
political reforms followed immediately after the Grand Duke's death, in
February 1905. From 1905, however, although the number of SR terrorist
acts increased dramatically, their impact was somewhat diffuse. Partly
because of Azef's double role, the Combat Organisation failed to assassinate
either of its main targets, Stolypin and the Tsar. By 1906 terrorism was already
proving counter-productive: the need to combat revolutionary terror was
adduced by Stolypin as justification for the introduction in that year of
emergency measures of counter-revolutionary repression.
II
Political terrorism as practised by the SRs from the time of the formation of
the party was defined by them as attacks on government officials, including
spies and informers. From 1904, however, groups emerged within the party
70
Maureen Ferrie
7l
72
Maureen Perrie
movement in these years reveal that the most common forms of action were
those which the SRs classified as'agrarian terrorism': arson, destructive raids
on estate buildings, seizure of crops, foodstuffs and fodder, illicit woodcutting
and pasturing of animals. Such instances constituted over 70 per cent of all
forms of action against landowners, whereas the peaceful and organised forms
of action recommended by the SRs, such as strikes and withdrawal oflabour,
were less than 25 per cent of the total. 44
The concept of Factory Terror appears to have originated as a logical
extension of agrarian terror. In Geneva, Chemov tells us, Ustinov rejected the
analogy, but in Ekaterinoslav in 1904 Sokolov gained support for a resolution
which favoured both agrarian and factory terror. 45 By 'factory terror' was
meant the use or threat of violence against the life or property of a factory
owner in order to further the economic interests of the workers. 'Factory
terror' was most popular in the North-West (Belorussia), especially in
Belostok, where the SR-Maximalists issued a proclamation calling on the
workers to 'beat up the bourgeois', and adding that 'only with bombs can we
make the bourgeois grant concessions'. 46 These views gained considerable
support among a section of the working class in Belorussia, particularly
among the younger Jewish workers. 47
The advocacy of tactics of economic terror by groups within the SR party
in 1904-5 developed in 1905-6 into the broader movement ofMaximalism.
Chemov has noted that both chronologically and logically SR-Maximalist
ideas followed from the acceptance of economic terror. 48 If political terror
against the government was accompanied by economic terror against the
propertied classes, then the property-owners would become hostile to the
revolutionary movement. Society would be polarised, and the possibility of
compromise would be eliminated. The SR-Maximalists therefore rejected any
agreement with the liberals, and many of them rejected parliamentarism
altogether. They called for the expropriation of the factories by the workers,
along with the expropriation of land by the peasantry (the simultaneous
socialisation of industry and land), and hoped thereby to achieve an
immediate socialist revolution in Russia. In the course of 1906 most
Maximalist groups broke away from the SR party to form the Union of SRMaximalists. Its existence as a separate organisation was however shortlived,
as it was virtually destroyed at the end of 1906 by the arrest and execution of
Sokolov and other Maximalist leaders. Many former Maximalists adhered in
the following years to various groups of anarchists or Makhaevists (who
rejected the revolutionary role of the intelligentsia). 49
In practice factory terror appears to have been a less frequent tactic of the
Maximalists than expropriations of money (see below)- possibly because acts
of factory terror were less common as forms of the spontaneous and
traditional working-class movement than were acts of agrarian terror by the
peasantry. The SRs attached less significance to factory terror than to
agrarian terror, simply condemning it in resolutions which were analogous to
73
those on agrarian terror. 50 At the First Party Congress, the only example of
factory terror practised by an SR committee was offered by the delegate from
Baku. In Baku in August 1905, in the context of racial clashes between the
Tatars and the Armenians, the party committee had ordered acts of arson
against the oil-wells, and threatened the life and property of the capitalists if
they did not close down their works to protect their workers. 51 The main
speaker on tactics at the congress, however, decreed that this example was not
strictly factory terror, since it occurred in the context of an incipient civil war
in Baku. He stressed that terror could be used against a capitalist if, for
example, he closed down his factory for political motives, but not if the factory
was closed for purely economic reasons. 52 A more detailed resolution
condemning factory terror was approved by the First Party Conference and
Fourth Party Council in 1908. 5 3 But the party still maintained its distinction
between factory terror, on the one hand, and acts of political terror against
capitalists, on the other. Factory terror was forbidden, but acts of political
terror against capitalists who 'systematically and blatantly breach their
neutrality in the war between the government and the revolutionary people' for example, by employing police or troops against their workers- were
permitted with the sanction of the regional party committee. 54
In the conditions of late Tsarist Russia, in fact, the distinction between
political and economic terror was peculiarly difficult to apply. The forces of
the state were liable to intervene in all economic disputes -both between
workers and employers and between peasants and landowners -on the side of
the propertied elements, thereby giving a political colouration to conflicts
which originated from purely economic interests. By classifying as 'political
terror' violent acts of self-defence by workers and peasants against police and
cossacks called in by the capitalists and landowners to protect their property,
the SRs recognised the political aspect of certain economic conflicts. But this
did not help them to make their distinction between political and economic
terror any more comprehensible to their rank and file supporters.
The tactic of Expropriation (robbery of money or property) by SR party
members originated, like factory terror, in the Western provinces of the
Empire. In 1904-5 SR elements in Ekaterinoslav and Belostok conducted a
campaign against the property-owners, demanding money from wealthy
individuals, reinforced by threats and sometimes acts of violence. 55 The
question of 'the revolutionary expropriation of land, state and private
property (in particular banks)' featured on the agenda of the First Party
Congress, 56 but apart from condemnation of 'private expropriations' by the
delegates from the North-West, little attention was paid to this aspect of
economic terror. 57 The question of financial expropriations was brought to a
head for the SRs when in the spring of 1906 members of the Moscow
'opposition' faction of the party, headed by Vladimir Mazurin, accomplished
the robbery of almost one million roubles from the Moscow Merchant Bank.
This robbery gave the opposition financial independence from the party, and
74
Maureen Perrie
75
At the First Party Congress this issue was raised by the group of 'legal
Populists', Annensky, Myakotin and Peshekhonov, who were later to split
with the party to form their own Party of Popular Socialists (Narodnye
Sotsialisty). The legal Populists argued that the SRs' perspectives of
socialisation from below were utopian. 66 In the debates, many other SR
delegates expressed similar concern that peasant land seizures would lead
simply to the transfer of land from the private property of the landowners to
that of individual peasants or individual communes. 67 Although a compromise resolution on agrarian tactics was adopted by the congress, the party
continued to stand for the 'revolutionary expropriation of the land'. 68 This
gave rise to charges of inconsistency from the Maximalists, who wondered
why the party permitted expropriation of land but not of other forms of
private property, such as money. They wondered, too, why the SRs called on
the peasants to seize the land, but refused to call on the workers to seize the
factories. 69
Chernov's reply was that there was no inconsistency. Socialisation of the
land was not a socialist measure, since agricultural production would not be
socialised, but would remain on an individual basis. Socialisation of the
factories, however, would involve socialisation of industrial production,
which was a socialist measure -for which, Chernov argued, objective
conditions in Russia were not yet ripe. 70 The Maximalists, however, rejected
Chernov's two-stage scenario for socialist revolution as a mere imitation of
the Social Democrats; they advocated an immediate socialist revolution. 71 In
their own terms, therefore, the Maximalists' tactics of expropriation of land
and factories were consistent with their perspective of an immediate socialist
revolution, while Chernov's advocacy only of land socialisation was consistent with his two-stage view of the transition to socialism in Russia. This
consistency at the level of high theory, however, did not translate very
effectively into consistency at the level of mass propaganda and agitation. In
fact the seizure of factories was not a major demand of the working-class
movement in the 1905 revolution. At the First SR Congress only Altovsky
('Goretskii'), the delegate from Saratov, claimed that the workers wished to
seize the factories. 7 2 And we are told that some workers in the Maximalist
stronghold of Bryansk believed that 'it's a very tempting prospect that the
factories and mills should be ours'. 73 As for the popularity of private
expropriations of money, this probably derived from its apparent legitimation
of theft in the eyes of criminal elements who kept the stolen money for their
own purposes rather than handing it over to party funds. 74
The SR party attempted to integrate political terrorism with the development of peaceful methods of economic struggle. In order to achieve this
integration, the SRs insisted that political terror must be conducted under
strict party control. A major argument in the party literature against the use of
economic terror was the difficulty of exerting adequate control over such acts.
Maureen Perrie
76
But the party found that in practice it was impossible to exert the required
degree of control even over political terror. There was thus considerable logic
in the position of the future Maximalists in the party who argued in favour of
economic terror, that party control was neither possible nor desirable. It was
impossible because of the underground character of the party, and it was
undesirable because of the danger of isolating the party from the
'spontaneous' revolutionary movement of the masses.
In 1902-3, and again in 1905-7, the SR party had to come to terms with the
emergence of a mass revolutionary movement which developed largely
outside its control. Although the spontaneous movement was uncoordinated
and inchoate, it involved far greater numbers of people than any existing
political party in Russia could realistically have hoped to organise, and it had
a greater impact on the Tsarist government than any movement since the
'peasant wars' of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In the countryside
in particular, the peasants favoured methods of economic terror against the
landowners, and it was difficult for the SRs to condemn such methods out of
hand. The party was faced with an awkward dilemma: how to preserve
standards of socialist morality and organisation compatible with its membership of the Second International, without risking the alienation of its potential
base of popular support in Russia. It is not surprising that the SRs failed to
square the circle. Their distinctions between political and economic terror,
and between state and private expropriations, were often absurd and virtually
impossible to translate into practice.
It might be argued that the logic of political terrorism led directly to the
advocacy of economic terror within the SR party; that once the principle of
terrorist violence against life and property was conceded, it was impossible to
place limits on its application. The development of the views of many SRs in
this period through Maximalism to anarchism might seem to demonstrate this
logic. Yet abstract logic in itself seldom plays a role in history; the 'logic of
events' is more important. At the time of the party's formation the SRs hoped
that political terror would have the agitational effect of arousing a mass
revolutionary movement. In 1905-7 the emergence of the mass movement,
largely as a spontaneous phenomenon, caused the party to reassess its tactical
directives on terror. But the SRs could not agree on the lessons to be drawn
from the events of 1905. Some wanted to abandon terror, others to extend it.
The intermediate position adopted by the party leadership, with all its
inconsistencies, represented a compromise, not only between the different
factions in the party, but also between neo-populist theory and the reality of
the Russian revolution.
NOTES
l.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
II.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
77
terrorisme russe, 1886-1917, (Paris, 1930). There isa brief account of the pre-war
years in the first three chapters of: 0. H. Radkey, The Agrarian Foes of
Bolshevism: Promise and Default of the Russian Socialist-Revolutionaries,
February-October 1917 (New York, 1958). In the past decade, the history of the
party before 1914 has been the subject of research by Maureen Perrie in Britain
and Manfred Hildenneier in Germany: Maureen Perrie, 'The Social Composition and Structure of the Socialist-Revolutionary Party before 1917', Soviet
Studies 24 (1972), pp. 223-50; M. Perrie, The Agrarian Policy of the Russian
Socialist-Revolutionary Party: From its Origins through the Revolution of
1905-1907 (Cambridge, 1976); Manfred Hildermeier, 'Zur Sozialstruktur der
Fiihrungsgruppen und zur terroristischen Kampfmethode der Sozialrevolutioniiren Partei Russlands vor 1917', Jahrbucher fur Geschichte Osteuropas,
N. F. 20 (1972) pp. 516-50; Hildenneier, 'Neopopulismus und Industrialisierung:
Zur Diskussion von Theorie und Taktik in der Sozialrevolutioniiren Partei
Russlands vor dem Ersten Weltkrieg' Jahrbucher fur Geschichte Osteuropas,
N.F. 22 (1974), pp. 358-89; Hildenneier, 'Neopopulism and Modernisation: the
Debate on Theory and Tactics in the Socialist Revolutionary Party, 1905-14',
Russian Review 34 (1975) pp. 453-75; Hildenneier, Die Sozialrevolutioniire Partei
Russlands: Agrarsozia/ismus und M odernisierung im Zarenreich ( 1900-1914)
(Cologne, 1978).
V. M. Chernov, Pered burei: Vospominaniya (New York, 1953) pp. 150-3.
For a fuller discussion of these issues, see Perrie, The Agrarian Policy, passim.
Protokoly pervogo s"ezda Partii Sotsia/istov-Revolyutsionerov (n.p., 1906)
pp. 355--65.
For a review of the views on terror ofthe SR groups of the 1890s, seeS. N. Sletov,
K istorii vozniknoveniya Partii Sotsia/istov-Revolyutsionerov (Petrograd, 1917)
pp. 61--6.
On the terrorist acts committed by the Combat Organisation in 1902-5, see:
Spiridovitch, pp. 149-260; Chernov, Pered burei, pp. 162-90; B. V. Savinkov,
'Vospominaniya', Byloe I (1917) pp. 149-95; 2 (1917) pp. 68-llO; 3 (1917) pp.
68-120.
See, for example: 'Terroristicheskii element v nashei programme', Revolyutsionnaya Rossiya 7 (June 1902), pp. 2-5; 'Terror i massovoe dvizhenie',
Revolyutsionnaya Rossiya 24 (May 1903) pp. l-3; 'Terroristicheskaya taktika
pered sudom sotsialisticheskoi pressy', Revolyutsionnaya Rossiya 52 (Sept. 1904)
pp. 6-11; D. Khilkov, 'Terror i massovaya bor'ba', Vestnik Russkoi Revolyutsii 4
(March 1905) pp. 225--61.
'Terroristicheskii element', pp. 3-5.
Spiridovitch, pp. 186-90; Savinkov, Byloe 2 (1917) pp. 69-75.
'Terroristicheskii element', p. 5.
Spiridovitch, pp. 233-8. See also M. Ivich (comp.), 'Statistika terroristicheskikh
aktov', Pamyatnaya knizhka Sotsia/ista-Revolyutsionera, no. 2 (n.p., 1914)
pp. 8-9.
Spiridovitch, pp. 266-8; Savinkov, Byloe 3 (1917) pp. 116-20.
Spiridovitch, pp. 286-7. Cf. Ivich, pp. 9-10.
Protokoly pervogo s"ezda, p. 314; Savinkov, Byloe I (1918) pp. 68-74.
A. Kubov (comp.), 'Svod postanovlenii obshchepartiinykh Sovetov i S"ezdov',
Pamyatnaya knizhka Sotsialista-Revolyutsionera, no. l (n.p., 1911) p. 65.
Spiridovitch, pp. 367-72; Savinkov, Byloe 2 (1918) p. 4; Ivich, pp. ll-12.
Spiridovitch, p. 372; Sa vinkov, Byloe 2 (1918) p. 26.
Protokoly vtorogo ( ekstrennogo) s"ezda Partii Sotsialistov-Revolyutsionerov
(St Petersburg, 1907) p. 162.
Spiridovitch, pp. 372--6; Savinkov, Byloe 2 (1918) pp. 30-1.
78
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
Maureen Perrie
Spiridovitch, pp. 483-8; Savinkov, Byloe 2 (l9I8) pp. 44-5.
Spiridovitch, pp. 587-9; Savinkov, Byloe 3 (l9I8) pp. 3I-55; 6 (I9I8) pp. 89II 0. For the discussion on terror at the Fifth Party Council, see: 'Yo pros o terrore
na V Sovete Partii, Mai 1909 god', Sotsia/ist-Revolyutsioner 2 (I910) pp. I-52.
Spiridovitch, pp. 624-5, 627-8.
For a discussion of these groups, see Hildermeier, 'Neopopulism and Modernisation', pp. 457-8, 468-71.
lvich, p. 5.
The evidence from the party's own statistics concerning the occupations of SR
terrorists was confirmed by an analysis by the present writer of the biographies of
over I ,000 SRs active in the party before 1914. Of 293 SRs who had been involved
in terrorism, 154 were workers or artisans: Perrie, 'The Social Composition and
Structure of the Socialist-Revolutionary Party before 1917', p. 246.
My analysis of SR biographies suggested that the terrorists were even younger,
with a median age of 20 in 1905: M. Perrie, 'The Social Composition and
Structure of the Socialist-Revolutionary Party, and its Activity amongst the
Russian Peasantry, 1901-7', M.A. thesis (University of Birmingham, 1971)
p. 46b.
lvich, pp. 8-20. The suggestion that many of the 'worker' terrorists in Table 6.2
may have been Jewish artisans was made at the GHI Conference by Eric
Hobsbawm: their regional distribution certainly supports this hypothesis.
Even their Social Democratic critics recognised that terrorism gained popular
support for the SRs in this period. See: A. Egorov, 'Zarozhdenie politicheskikh
partii i ikh deyatel'nost", in L. Martov, P. Maslov and A. Potresov (eds),
Obshchestvennoe dvizhenie v Rossii v nacha/e XX-go veka, vol. I (St Petersburg,
1909), p. 420; P. Maslov, 'Narodnicheskie partii' in ibid., vol. 3 (St Petersburg,
1914) p. 105.
For a fuller discussion of the issues covered in this section, see Perrie, The
Agrarian Policy, pp. 91-7, 165--6.
Ibid., pp. 24-33, 42-50.
Ibid., pp. 58-69.
Ko vsemu russkomu krest'yanstvu ot Krest'yanskogo Soyuza Partii SotsialistovRevolyutsionerov (n.p., 1902) p. 24.
'Pervyi s"ezd Agrarno-Sotsialisticheskoi Ligi', Revolyutsionnaya Rossiya 12 (Oct.
1902) pp. 21-3.
For a fuller discussion of this group, see V. Chernov, 'K kharakteristike
maksimalizma', Sotsialist-Revolyutsioner 1 (1910) pp. I84-203.
Ibid., pp. 185-90.
Ibid., pp. 191-2.
Ibid., pp. 194-5.
Ibid., pp. 197-8.
Spiridovitch, p. 224.
Protokoly pervogo s"ezda, p. 336.
Protokoly pervoi obshchepartiinoi konferentsii Partii Sotsia/istov-Revo/yutsionerov, avgust 1908 (Paris, 1908) pp. 230-1; Kubov, p. 48.
Protokoly pervoi obshchepartiinoi konferentsii, p. 230; Kubov, pp. 46-7.
I. Ritina (ed.), 'lz materialov krest'yanskoi ankety (prodolzhenie)', Znamya
Truda 27 (1910) pp. 19-20. See also the English translation by Maureen Perrie
(ed.), 'The Russian Peasantry in I907-l908; a Survey by the SocialistRevolutionary Party', History Workshop Journa/4 (1977) pp. I89-90. There were
also replies in favour of agrarian terror in response to a survey of Ukrainian
peasant organisations, published in an SR-Maximalist journal: 'Otvety
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
59.
60.
61.
62.
63.
64.
65.
66.
67.
68.
69.
70.
71.
72.
73.
74.
79
It was particularly in the Russia of the late 1870s that political terror began
to form part of the revolutionary movement's action programme. It arose in a
period characterised by disappointment about the failure to mobilise the
peasants to revolt against the autocratic regime. The adherents of Narodnaya
Volya regarded attempts on the life of leading representatives of the State
apparatus, and indeed the tsar's own life, as the only means left to them, if they
were still to accomplish their revolution. Deliberate use of violence seemed to
80
81
hold out the hope, as expressed in one of their pamphlets, of retrieving the
failed popular insurrection 'with the least possible sacrifice and in the shortest
possible time? Political terror was perceived as an alternative to the
revolutionary action of the masses that had failed to materialise. It was both a
consequence and a mark of the existing gulf between a conscious elite and the
so-called 'dark' people. Yet the contrast between the use of violence and the
tactics of peaceful enlightenment, which had been practised in the early 1870s,
was only a superficial one. It might with greater justification be described as
complementary to it, since both strategies revealed the helplessness of the selfappointed avant-garde.
Political terror, thus rationalised, constituted in Russia a mode of action
specific to the intelligentsia and was in the last resort, in the words of
Lenin's brother, Alexander Ulyanov, 'a conflict between government and
intelligentsia'. 3 The terrorist, belonging to the educated class, took up the fight
against oppression and exploitation as a deputy of the people and, as that
deputy, he also chose his objectives: the revolutionary struggle turned into a
kind of duel. Legitimacy and usefulness of terrorist attempts were expressly
linked to this representative and personal character of the conflict: 'In our
country', stated the Narodnaya Volya pamphlet already referred to, 'the
terrorists conduct their fight against individuals and their personal interests against the head of the dynasty and its most important pillars'. Where 'terror
is not directed against individuals, but against whole institutions, classes or,
even more importantly, the economic interests of an entire category of people,
it is simply inappropriate'. 4
In later SR-declarations this form of terrorist action was given additional
justification by moral and ethical arguments. These showed a marked
irrationalism and an almost pseudo-religious glorification of 'the avenging
heroes' -as they tended to be called. It was not political motives which
determined the acts of the assassin, but 'hatred', 'a spirit of sacrifice' and a
'sense of honour'. The throwing of bombs was declared to be a 'holy cause'.
Thus the SRP shrouded its terrorists in a special aura, placing them far above
what might be termed its civilian party members. They embodied, as it were,
the ethical principle of the revolution, for they were prepared to give their lives
for the revolutionary cause. A prominent SRP-member summarised this view
as follows: 'In terms of moral pliilosophy, the act of killing must at the same
time be an act of self-sacrifice. s A few years later this was precisely the
argument employed in order to distinguish the SR's legitimate tyrannicide
from the Bolsheviks' execrable terror: the former, wrote the left-wing
Socialist-Revolutionary who later became the Soviet government's first
People's Commissar for Justice, Isaac Steinberg, sprang from personal effort
which did not shrink from self-sacrifice, the latter from 'the comfort of
bureaucratic chambers'. 6
Populist theory and practice of'individual terror' in the form described was
closely linked to the structure of the autocratic state. The following
82
Manfred Hildermeier
83
hopes were placed in the propaganda effects of terrorist acts, since these would
'awaken even the sleepiest philistines ... and force them, even against their
will, to think politically'. 7 Thirdly and lastly, the assassination of the regime's
most prominent representatives was to have a 'disorganising effect'. Guns and
bombs were, if not to destroy the State, at least to force it to make concessions
to 'society'.
It cannot be denied that in the initial phase, in what was later to be called
the 'heroic period' of Socialist-Revolutionary terror preceding the 1905
revolution, all three main objectives were largely realised. The successful
assassinations of one minister of education, two ministers of the interior, one
governor-general and one member ofthe tsar's family, did indeed strike both
anxiety and terror among the rulers, and evidently caused utter panic within
the security forces. They were even greatly applauded by the liberals. With the
onset of revolution this run of successes came to an abrupt end. To the dismay
of the party leadership, the number of terrorist acts and violent incursions by
local committees increased, yet the weapon of so-called 'central' political
terror, which was the particular feature ofSR strategy, nevertheless remained
a blunt one, especially after revolutionary unrest had come to an end. Even the
central committee's unceasing appeals and efforts at reorganisation could not
alter that fact.
The causes of this development were, from 1909 onwards, a matter of
heated debate among the SRP leadership. Roughly speaking, two positions
began to emerge. The members of the central committee had a very convenient
answer to this. They sought the sole explanation for the failures in the treason
of an agent of the secret police who, as was discovered late in 1908, had for
years been an active member of the inner group of the so-called 'combat
organisation'. There is no doubt that this agent provocateur, Evno Azef, did
untold damage to the party. But the central committee conveniently
overlooked the fact that Azef's career had only been possible because he had
equally cheated his paymasters and had committed a double treachery which,
to his contemporaries, appeared incredible.
A less superficial explanation was offered by the representatives of the
opposing right wing of the party. According to them, the unsuccessful
terrorist attempts only proved that these tactics had become inappropriate
and anachronistic. 'The people, or rather the exploited working class itself',
they argued, 'had during the revolution entered into the arena of political
struggle.' To challenge the government on their behalf was thus no longer
necessary, and the individual struggle of the intelligentsia would have to
cease. 8 Russia's social and political development, in other words, had
irrevocably removed the basis of Narodnaya Volya's strategy of 'individual
terror', for it had changed the premises on which this had been founded.
This argument, reasonably sound in itself, may be complemented by the
following more general thought. In so far as political terror is a symbolic act 9
it derives its efficacy from the fact that with relatively minimal expenditure of
84
Manfred Hildermeier
III
The SRP, in contrast to Narodnaya Volya, was a mass party, claiming to be
open to anyone who supported its programme. As a result, its necessarily
conspiratorial terrorist activities had to be strictly separated from its work of
agitation. The former were entrusted to a so-called 'combat organisation',
especially formed for this purpose. While Narodnaya Volya's theoreticians,
organisers and terrorists had been largely one and the same people, the SRP
introduced a division of responsibilities. For the first time a whole group of
revolutionaries existed whose sole function it was to prepare and carry out
assassinations. Making terror organisationally independent, however, was
85
the head of the combat organisation. Seen from this angle, the Azef affair,
which shook the SRP to its very foundations, appears not merely as a nasty
misfortune. It was surely also the consequence of growing organisational
independence and insufficient ability to control terrorist tactics.
Any attempt to draw conclusions from the record of SocialistRevolutionary terrorist actions, which might serve as a more general
illustration of the calculated use of force as an instrument of political struggle,
would require a degree of caution. It would be almost impossible to divorce
the fundamental preconditions of 'individual terror' from the autocratic,
agrarian-bureaucratic system of rule in Russia, from concrete political
circumstances and from the socio-psychological situation of the Russian
intelligentsia. It is possible, on the other hand, to detect certain phenomena
which appear to represent, beyond the different historical contexts, certain
related forms of political violence, that is to say in so far as they typify its
deliberate use by small groups against the leading representatives of a State
and society they are challenging, and not a mass phenomenon akin to civil
86
Manfred Hildermeier
87
since it is subject to the law of 'all or nothing' and, once embarked upon, can
hardly be employed in a manner appropriate to the situation. This, too, may
be regarded as proving the thesis that acts of terror of the kind described which admittedly represent merely a small aspect of the whole phenomenon of
terror -can only be a short-term and, in the end, ineffective means of
revolutionary political struggle.
NOTES
l.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
The link between the working-class movement and Anarchism in nineteenthand twentieth-century Spanish history is a far more tangible one than in any of
the other modern European societies. Until the Civil War of 1936-9,
Anarchism in Spain represented a significant revolutionary force which, in
alliance with the Syndicalist movement, showed remarkable organisational
stability. From the outset- when at the beginning of November 1868 the
Italian Guiseppe Fanelli, as Bakunin's envoy, brought the news of the
creation of an International Workers' Association to Spain- Iberian Anarchism was concentrated socially and regionally in two areas: in the feudal,
latifundist South, where Anarchism took root among Andalusian agricultural
labourers and artisans, and in the relatively industrialised North-east of the
peninsula, where Catalan Anarcho-Syndicalism established itself. This social
(industrial/agricultural) and regional (Andalusia/Catalonia) differentiation
has not only prompted scholars to produce a variety of explanatory
hypotheses about the causes that gave rise to Spanish Anarchism, but in the
course of its history has also presented the movement itself with virtually
insoluble structural problems. It determined its strategy and tactics, exercised
a decisive influence on the anarchist concept of revolution and may even have
been one of the main reasons for the movement's failure and ultimate eclipse
as a social-revolutionary force. 1
All libertarian authors who have taken a self-critical look at their
movement and its role in the social conflicts during the last third of the
nineteenth and the first third of the twentieth century, have pointed to the lack
of accord between the different Anarchist wings on essential programmatic
issues. 2 The Anarchists' internal disputes and their inability to reach
consensus on questions of principle can be traced right back to the beginning
88
89
of the movement: even at the first Workers Congress of 1870 in Barcelona the
programme presented by the Spanish Section of the International ('in politics
anarchist, in economy collectivist, in religion atheist') was only accepted after
several crucial votes, and then only in an extremely diluted form. The
disagreements during this congress set the pattern for the dissent that was to
develop between 'reformists' and revolutionary activists. Significantly, even
then the majority of Catalan delegates advocated a more moderate wording of
individual proposals, but on the whole to little avail. 3
The differing social and regional composition of the Spanish Anarchist
movement had a very direct impact on such central issues as 'direct action' and
the use of violence. Consideration of the social, economic, political, sociohistorical preconditions for the rise of Anarchism and its development into a
revolutionary mass movement implies at the same time the question of the
different strategies of 'libertarian socialism'. In this context strategies are
taken to mean the rational and objective aims of violent acts, while bearing in
mind that especially in Spanish Anarchism irrational patterns of violence were
also frequent and widespread.
For the Spanish Anarchists, the First International's motto- 'the emancipation of the proletariat must be the work of the proletariat itself' -could only
mean consistent rejection of political parties or associations exerting an
influence when it came to formulating political objectives or decisions. This
'anti-political' stance, as distinct from an 'apolitical' one, 4 also prevented
them from forming (expedient) coalitions with Republican or Socialist parties
and constituted one of the movement's essential traits. For the workers
organised in the Federacion Regional Espaflola (FRE), antipoliticismo not only
meant the rejection of all political parties, but hostility towards a republican
form of government and the refusal to take part in elections. The debate about
the appropriateness of these tactics- which had already flared up in 1870 and
was two years later to lead to the Spanish labour movement splitting into a
larger 'anti-authoritarian' (Bakuninist) and a smaller 'authoritarian'
(Marxist) wing- as far as the Anarchist workers were concerned, was settled
in favour of antipoliticismo, after the Paris Commune in 1871 had been
bloodily suppressed by a republican government. For the Anarchists it was
now proven beyond doubt that all politics, no matter under what form of
government, were pernicious for the workers and therefore to be rejected. s
In place of 'political' action, the Anarchists put 'direct' or 'anti-political'
action, which they originally conceived of as being the direct conflict between
opposing social forces (labour and capital). It meant independent action of the
people without recourse to parliamentary representatives, and, in direct
reference to Bakunin, the intention to reach their ultimate aim, social
revolution, 'not by way of formal use and dissemination of ready-made
theories, but only through the spontaneous deed of a practical autonomous
spirit'. 6 Initially, 'direct action' was thus by no means to be equated with the
use of physical force, even if an extremist wing had always considered acts of
90
W a/ther L. Bernecker
sabotage and terror to be legitimate means in the fight against capital; 'direct
action' meant activities such as collective bargaining, propagandist agitation
and strikes. And, during the lifetime of the International's Spanish Regional
Federation (1870-88) it was indeed the strike weapon which represented the
preferred strategy of organised labour; in terms of their eventual goal it was
considered a revolutionary weapon, yet in terms of the prevailing law it was a
perfectly legal one. An anarchist pamphlet of 1872 expressed the International's objectives as follows: 7
It must gradually change the economic situation of the working
class ... improve working conditions, curtail, diminish and eliminate the
privileges of capital, make these every day more dependant and precarious,
until capital surrenders and disappears ... This can be achieved by
resistance, with the legal and open weapon of the strike.
91
92
Walther L. Bernecker
the working class. At the FRE's first congress in Barcelona (1870) a resolution
was passed, recommending the strike as the most promising strategy of 'direct
action' for the realisation of the workers' interests. In the internationalist press
of the time, the term 'scientific strike' very soon became the accepted
expression; this provided also some indication of the problems connected with
this strategy: local strikes were not to be called until the entire machinery of
the workers' organisation had been included in a 'scientific manner' in their
planning and organisation. The bureaucratic mechanisms that needed to be
set in motion from the moment a local sector made a strike application until its
approval by the Comite Federal would thus have taken almost two months. 11
If one looks at the legalistic course pursued by the then predominantly
Catalan FRE-leadership, one is led to conclude that the implementation of a
strike was made dependent on compliance with numerous regulations, not out
of a desire to achieve the greatest impact and to ensure solidarity and support
of other sections of workers - as officially proclaimed - but because the
Syndicalist-oriented wing wished to prevent strikes altogether. Until it was
declared illegal in 1874, and again after its re-admission in 1881, the FRE also
fought against the many 'wild cat' strikes which took place with particular
frequency in agrarian Andalusia. Despite the opposition of the Comite
Federal, during the first phase of the International strikes continued to be the
strategy most frequently employed by the workers' movement. Rank-and-file
workmen urged ever new strikes, embarked on unco-ordinated and illprepared protest actions, which mostly ended in failure, and thus provided the
authorities with sufficient pretext to persecute and suppress the FRE. Because
of lack of success and increasing tensions, most of the workers, particularly
during the years the International was banned ( 1874-81 ), either sank into the
apathy of despair or, much more frequently, took the radical path of violent
action. 12
Between 1868 and 1874 the organised labour movement in Spain pursued
an invariably legal course: it intended to achieve its objectives by association,
propaganda and peaceable strikes. On occasion it was even claimed that it was
possible to achieve the social revolution by peaceful means, within the
framework of the existing constitutional and political order. The internationalist press of that time constantly reiterated its motto: 'Peace towards
mankind, war against institutions'. And even the FRE's participation in the
cantonal insurrection of 1873 did not, by any means, possess the significance
which both Friedrich Engels and the conservative press of the day imputed to
it with polemic intent. 13 Only the massive repression of the internationalist
movement by the republican Castelar government towards the end of 1873
and the simultaneous recognition that the strike-strategy pursued so far had
been a failure, caused the FRE to revise its hitherto mainly peaceful strategies
and to come down- albeit reluctantly- on the side of violent measures. The
excess of repressive violence on the part of the state had not made the workers
more tractable, but had, on the contrary, resulted in an escalation of resistance
93
and counter-violence. Even then the organisation attempted to ensure that its
means remained commensurate: it merely announced 'retaliatory measures' in
response to particular incursions on the part of the bourgeoisie. The
movement intended to confine itself to retaliatory violence, and in its
proclamations left no doubt that it regarded its actions merely as a violent
response to government persecution and the bourgeoisie's institutionalised
terror. In this phase, violence was less strategy than reaction and self-defence.
When the International was legalised again in 1881, the workers' movement's
first phase of violence came to an abrupt end; it had in any case consisted more
in theory or threats, than in spectacular 'retaliatory measures' or acts of
terror.
After 1881 it was again the 'legalist' wing which continued to determine the
movement's course for a number of years; this, however, now showed obvious
reformist traits. Not only the means, but the objectives as well had been shorn
of their revolutionary dynamic and been replaced by servile recognition of the
status quo. 'Their Excellencies, the Ministers' and 'their Honours, the Civil
Governors', were respectfully asked to do something about the excesses
perpetrated by the organs of the state. The Revista Social, the FRE's official
mouthpiece, vigorously rejected the use of violence by workers. The Valencia
Congress of 1883 expressly stated that those workers who still advocated a
strategy of violence ought no longer to be able to count on the solidarity of the
movement.
It would certainly be wrong to interpret the anarchists' perception of their
own role as a reflection of their actual impotence during those years, or as the
pre-emptive response to their fear of being banned again. It was rather that
from the beginning it had been an unquestioned tenet of Spanish Anarchists
that the social revolution was not to happen against the will of the majority of
the people. They were vividly conscious of the fact that there existed an
indivisible connection between ends and means; these had to remain
reconcilable with each other, lest the means should destroy the end and finally
replace it. 14 The constant call for organisation and propaganda, and the clear
rejection of violent measures were thus not an expression of impotent
resignation but a deliberate reiteration of one of Anarchism's basic postulates.
The climax of these legalistic tactics coincided with the period of the severest
persecution the Anarchists were subjected to during those decades: the
suppression of the organised labour movement after the Mano Negra cases
(1883) led to a crisis and finally to the dissolution (1888) of the Federacion de
Trabajadores de Ia Region Espanola (FTRE). As legalistic tactics had failed
and indeed ended in complete fiasco, the extreme left groups, which already in
the period of illegality had carried out violent actions and were again
advocating much more radical combat methods, found it relatively easy in the
1880s to gain greater influence within the Federation. Finally 'illegalism'
completely won the day and this initiated a new phase in the history of the
Spanish workers' movement.
94
W a/ther L. Bernecker
If, after this brief chronicle of events, one were now to trace and analyse the
ideological pattern underlying the actions of anarchist groups, the question as
to the motives for the legalist-syndicalist tactics of the FTRE-leadership in
Catalonia on the one hand, and for the numerous strikes and insurrections of
agrarian anarchist groups in Andalusia on the other, must be extended, to
inquire more generally into the reasons why Anarchism in Spain was able to
gain so much ground. The relevant literature of recent decades has provided
several partial answers, which allow us to come a little nearer to the complex
subject of 'Spanish Anarchism'. The conceptual and socio-historical deficiencies of research into anarchism in general have recently been deplored; it
is characterised by a lack of precision on the one hand and by a too narrow
historical definition of the phenomenon of anarchism on the other and has
thus, because it fails to provide explanatory models for the rise and the history
of Anarchism, merely tended to reproduce the latter's absence oftheory. 1 ~ In
the Spanish case, however, this is only true in the reverse sense: repeated
attempts to explain Iberian Anarchism in monocausal terms have led to very
diverse interpretative approaches, sometimes complementary, sometimes
cancelling each other out.
One of the most frequent explanations traces Anarchism's mobilisation
back to the movement's milleniarism. Constancio Bemaldo de Quiros 16 was
one of the first Spanish scholars to describe Anarchism as a secular religion,
founded on an apocalyptic belief in an equal society. When Juan Diaz del
Moral in 1929 published his still authoritative study of the peasant movements
in the province of Cordoba he was able to draw on Bernaldo de Quiros'
theories. 17 The periodicity of anarchist rebellions, and the tremendous
passions that were aroused during insurrections, have led Diaz del Moral to
explain Spanish Anarchism in terms of social psychology. He argued that
Anarchism, as other pre-modem religious movements, had a magic rather
than a rationally scientific concept of time and historical evolution. The fact
that anarchist insurrections repeated themselves at ten-year intervals (1873:
cantonalist rising; 1883: harvest strike in the Cadiz province; 1892: rebellion at
Jerez de Ia Frontera; 1902/3: general strike of coopers, agricultural and textile
workers in western Andalusia) appeared to corroborate his thesis.
Gerald Brenan, in his masterly analysis of the social and political
background to the Spanish Civil War, based himself on the findings of
Bemaldo de Quiros and Diaz del Moral. 18 He argues that the radicalism of
Andalusian Anarchism corresponds to the Spanish temperament, and that
Spanish individualism and pride provided the ideal soil for a doctrine 'which,
in a more extreme form than even the Protestant religion, places on each
individual the responsibility for his own actions'. 19 Anarchism as a dynamic
mass movement with a social-revolutionary thrust had come together in
Spain with the emotions underlying a traditional attitude to life which it had
only needed to stimulate. 20 The unparalleled vitality of Spanish Anarchism
was deeply rooted in the mentality of the simple people; the coincidence of
95
96
W a/ther L. Bernecker
was spontaneous unanimity of action, their disadvantage lack of organisation, strategy, tactics and patience) and as the revolutionary attitude of
peasants that was a product both of modern conditions and of the inability to
adapt to these.
The liberalisation of the property laws and the establishment of a capitalist
legal system not only worsened agrarian conditions, but also robbed many
artisans of their basis of existence: Andalusia in the nineteenth century went
through a process of de-industrialisation, since it was unable to protect itself
against competition from Northern Spain and from abroad. Thus it appears
entirely comprehensible that the local leaders of anarchist revolts should have
been very often craftsmen; as obreros conscientes (conscious workers) they
were instrumental in the propagation of anarchist ideas among the illiterate
agricultural workers. In terms of social structure the characteristics of the
participants in the 1861 insurrection of Loja (Province of Granada),
organised by the veterinary surgeon and blacksmith Ramon Perez del Alamo,
already point to the social structure of the later Anarchist movement.
Although the rebellion 26 was in the main one of illiterate wage labourers, and
to a lesser extent of skilled agricultural workers (peritos agricolas), its leaders
belonged to the lower middle classes and possessed a far higher degree of
political consciousness than the mass of the labourers, who were merely
fighting for their physical livelihood. Class background and the level of
political consciousness of the leaders of the revolt, as "well as the varying
objectives of the participants, already show that ambivalence which a decade
later was to become a characteristic of the artisan and agrarian Anarchism
that developed in Andalusia.
In contrast to the millenarian interpretations of previous research
(Constancio Bernaldo de Quiros, Diaz del Moral, Gerald Brenan, Eric
Hobsbawm eta/.) a new approach has lately gained ground, which sees the
numerous anarchist strikes not as irrational, millenarian actions, but as the
perfectly rational strategy of a libertarian movement. This new interpretation
has been put forward in particular by Temma Kaplan, 28 who, while drawing
on the studies of Hobsbawm, Brenan and the social anthropologist PittRivers, concentrates her research on the question as to the conditions under
which anarchist ideology and strategy developed and eventually became a
mass movement. Kaplan restricts her investigation to the viticultural province
of Cadiz; she shows that in the 1880s as a result of exogeneous (notably
economic, trade and fiscal) difficulties the lower middle class, mainly involved
in the Sherry trade, and the province's artisans and skilled workers,
threatened by social decline, entered into a populist alliance with the agrarian
proletariat, seeing their mutual enemy in the latifundist grain producers, the
Bourbon monarchy and the centralised State machinery. Thus Anarchism
was by no means a movement consisting exclusively of 'poor' agricultural
labourers. The threat of a loss of autonomy, the mechanisation of the vatproduction, the drastic decline in good-quality sherry exports as well as the
97
98
Walther L. Bernecker
From the time the Anarchist movement emerged in Spain, there existed
parallel to the FRE's strategy of legalism an inclination to employ violence,
particularly among the Andalusian proletariat. In the 1870s, while the
International was outlawed, vehement conflicts arose within its ranks between
the Catalan leadership, of legalistic and syndicalist orientation, and the
Andalusian representatives, who advocated 'revolutionary actions'. 34 After
the re-admission of the International, these debates reached a crisis point,
reflected in the organisation's transition from Federacion Regional Espanola
to Federacion de Trabajadores de Ia Region Espanola (FTRE). The advocates
of legalism emerged as the clear victors; revolutionary insurrections were
eliminated from their 'official' strategic stock-in-trade, even if the inclination
to violence was never altogether quelled in certain sections of organised
labour, particularly in western Andalusia.
The legalist and reformist course pursued by the FTRE's leadership after
1881, however, was not rewarded in the expected manner by the authorities.
No doubt this had something to do with the fact that even within the
Anarchists' organisation, especially in the South, legalism never fully
prevailed. As early as the mid-1870s so-called anarchist 'action groups'
agitated, as already indicated, as 'combat units' (unidades de guerra) against
99
the rule of the bourgeoisie. In 1873/74, at the time of the Geneva Congress, the
influential Andalusian Anarchists Farga Pellicer and Garcia Vinas had visited
Michael Bakunin in Switzerland, and it is probable that he encouraged them
to violence. In addition, reports about acts of violence abroad and the
outcome of the discussions at the London Congress of the 'Black
International' in 1881 did not remain without effect in Spain. Eventually some
left 'deviationists', who did not agree with the FTRE's official appeasement
policy, early in the 1880s founded their own opposition organisation- Los
Desheredados (The Disinherited) - and regarded terrorist methods as a
legitimate weapon in the struggle against state and capital. 35 These groups'
continuing acts, or threats, of terror provided the government with a welcome
pretext for a ruthless persecution of the entire labour movement, even after its
organisations had been once more legalised. No distinctions were made
between terrorist underground groups and legal workers organisations, such
as the Andalusian Union de Trabajadores del Campo (UTC). Several murders
committed at the turn of the year 1882/83 were used as an excuse for the
massive persecution of the workers. Even to be found reading a (legally
distributed) anarchist publication was sufficient reason to be condemned as a
'member' of a terrorist gang. Every unexplained death, every kind of damage
was automatically attributed to the FTRE or one of its adjuncts. Even the
workers organisations' demand for collective bargaining was regarded as a
revolutionary act by employers and authorities and punished accordingly.
Hunger and unemployment among the landless proletariat, blind rage
against the institutional terror of local authorities, and against the murder of
alleged ringleaders as well as disappointment within the ranks of the Spanish
workers about the social and political developments provoked a climate of
considerable tension and violence. Anarchist terror only becomes comprehensible if seen in the context of the social violence that gave rise to it. This
also featured largely in the Anarchists' justification of violence, for it was
argued that the bourgeois society is itself based on violence. All forms of force
occurring in this society are founded on the basic principle of authority- in
itself a form of violence; the social organisation of the bourgeois State
produces class and race hatred, poverty, injustice, despotism and consequently violence. Hence, the way bourgeois society is organised is interpreted as a 'state of war', and this violent condition also justifies the use of
violence, which, since it is used in conditions of war, merely serves defensive
purposes. The prevailing conditions thus enforce the use of counter-violence.
From 1883 onwards, as a result of repressive measures against the FTRE and
the failure of the strike strategy, the International became more radicalised,
extremist groups gained greater influence, and there appeared the first signs of
what was later to be called the phase of terrorist attempts. The internationalist
press- Revista Social, El Eco de Ravachol, El Grito del Pueblo, Acracia, La
Cuestiim Social, etc. - increasingly called for acts of violence, while some, for
instance La Revolucion Social, even started special columns for 'propaganda
100
Walther L. Bernecker
101
according to his abilities and would be rewarded according to his needs. The
dissent between collectivists and communists was in reality nothing but a
dispute between Catalan and Andalusian Anarchists. However, it will be
necessary to define this more precisely, since the ideological battle lines cut
right across the ranks of Andalusian anarchists as well. As Temma Kaplan has
shown for the province of Cadiz, the economic depression of the 1860s forced
artisans, wine-growers, smallholders and (skilled) workers to organise
themselves. Those threatened by social decline resorted to the corporate
models of old and formed co-operatives, protection societies and syndicates.
Around 1870 in Jerez alone there existed about fifty such societies, whose
protest and strike actions were coordinated and mutually supportive. These
uniones or secciones de oficio formed the basic structure of Andalusian
Anarchism, into which the Anarchists endeavoured to integrate small
producers and wage earners, peasants and rural proletariat, skilled and
unskilled workers in a populist alliance. Contrary to its name, the Union de
Trabajadores del Campo, for example, comprised not only landless day
labourers and independent smallholders, but bakers, coopers and carters as
well. Here the Anarchists were able to ally their movement to militant
syndicalism -although the term itself is of a later date -and to the traditional
working-class culture. In this fashion the movement was not only able to
survive long periods of illegality, but also to gain a large influx of new
members. These uniones aimed not so much at economic reforms that would
improve the conditions of the working class as at the destruction of capitalism
and the extirpation of the bourgeoisie. Their strategy did not consist in
reformist strikes but in the preparation of the final overthrow, of social
revolution.
Within the ranks of Andalusian Anarchists there also developed considerable tensions between the syndicalistically organised workers of the
uniones and the agrarian proletarians who had begun to form secret cells. The
former clearly favoured the anarcho-collectivist line, while the latter, barely
able to scratch a livelihood, did not orient themselves on a particular trade but
on the commune as a whole. When at the Seville Congress the AnarchoCommunists failed to assert their views, one group, advocating the autonomy
of the commune and the socialisation of production and consumption, split
off.
The ideological differences between collectivists and communists were
directly reflected in the movement's strategy: while the collectivists rejected
any form of physical violence, for fear of repressive government measures and
a renewed ban on workers organisations, the communist advocates of
terrorism expressed themselves in favour of violent acts against the large
landowners and other representatives of the system of exploitation. The
Congress was unambiguously reminded that there were 30,000 unemployed in
Andalusia, who had nothing to lose but their poverty; 14,000 of these were
claimed to be Anarchists. The radical group which split from the FTRE's
102
Walther L. Bernecker
103
104
Walther L. Bernecker
collective pressure in the form of strikes and to pursue a more or less rational
strategy, the (anarcho-communist) agricultural labourers possessed no solid
organisational structure and thus saw themselves subjectively as isolated
loners whose only weapon - since collective measures were out of the
question -was individual acts of terror.
The term 'irrational violence', frequently used in the relevant literature to
describe local agrarian insurrections in Andalusia, poses certain problems, if
'irrational' violence is taken to mean the discharge of aggression without
discernible purpose as opposed to 'rational' violence as a means to a particular
end. It would perhaps be more appropriate to use the term 'communicative'
violence that aims at drawing the public's attention to conditions that require
reform, while constituting at the same time a strategy of both threat and
appeal. For despite the spontaneous and emotional nature of their insurrectionist acts of violence, the Andalusian anarchists also operated to some
extent in a rational and certainly in a selective manner. Rational insofar as
they possessed at least a vague idea of their ultimate aim- to be free of
government; and selective, insofar as they mainly, albeit not exclusively,
attacked persons and targets which for them were the particular symbols of
the prevailing system of exploitation and repression. 41
While the internal disputes within the FTRE between AnarchoCollectivists and Anarcho-Communists were still in full swing and the Spanish
International was threatened with a complete split into two warring factions,
the organisation's unity and perception of itself came further under pressure
through the Mano Negra cases. Mano Negra (Black Hand) was an anarchist
secret society, which mainly operated in the provinces of Cadiz and Seville. It
was probably formed in the years of prohibition following 1874 and it is likely
that it was behind at least some of the daily acts of violence in the South, which
towards the end of the 1870s began to take on an almost breathtaking
momentum. Arson, the destruction of harvests, land occupations, strikes,
assaults and murders were the order of the day. There appeared to be no end to
this state of violence. The situation of the agricultural labourers worsened
from day to day. Bad harvests increased unemployment and forced many day
labourers to emigrate. As a consequence of increases in the price of bread the
population no longer had adequate amounts of basic foodstuffs and this led to
numerous deaths from starvation. Spontaneous land occupation provoked
massive repressive measures by the police and exacerbated the vicious circle of
violence and counter-violence. The imprisonment and execution of workers,
arbitrarily arrested, increased the tensions among the agrarian proletariat and
provoked acts of revenge. Even the FRE's Comision Federal called on the
workers to use open violence, claiming that it was the duty of all revolutionaries to rise against injustice and to fight for the social revolution. The
illegally assembled Conferencias Comarca/es in 1880 unanimously advocated
armed struggle and retaliatory measures as a means in the fight against State
and capital. 42
105
In 1883, when the food crisis was at its height, the public was startled by a
series of crimes, alleged to have been committed by the rural secret society
Mano Negra. The authorities accused this 'secret association of kidnappers,
murderers and arsonists' of wishing to overthrow the government, to destroy
the state and to eliminate the landowning aristocracy of Andalusia. The hunt
for individual murderers once again provided the government with a pretext
for a destructive campaign against the International in Andalusia. Mano
Negra was alleged to have nearly 50,000 members and between February and
March the prisons were filled with thousands of workers. The authorities were
firmly convinced that Mano Negra belonged to the International (FRTE). The
latter hastened to deny any connection between it and the Mano Negra and
even claimed that the 'Black Hand' had been invented by the government, in
order to be able to oppress the workers' movement as a whole. 43 The FRTE's
vehement denials are partly explained by its anxiety to protect the (legally
operating) International against retaliatory measures or potential renewed
prohibition, but arose partly also out of the deep differences of interests
between the agrarian workers of the South and the industrial workers in the
urban regions. The fact that the International emphatically distanced itself
from the Mano Negra's 'thieves, kidnappers and murderers' contributed to
those latter's defeat and extinction. 44
As can be seen from numerous libertarian sources, the Mano Negra's
terrorist acts were largely conceived as responses to 'structural' violence, or to
repressive measures by the state. The concept of'structural violence' covers all
degrading living and working conditions. 45 This reaction to the authorities'
repressive measures shows that the State's monopoly of force was not
recognised. It is quite clear that the security organs of the State and the
economically dominant class, by their behaviour, were to a great extent
themselves responsible for the outbreak and escalation of violent excesses.
The use of violence may thus be interpreted as a process of interaction between
those in power and those who are subjected to it. Significantly, the majorityalthough not all- of the acts of terror were directed against the representatives of the political system and less against capitalist incumbents of positions
of economic power (as one might have assumed, in view of the proclaimed
objectives of the social revolution and the economic emancipation of working
class); the nature of the targets of anarchist terror thus lends emphasis to the
interpretation that anarchist terror was revolutionary violence consciously
juxtaposed to institutional violence. In its conflict with terrorism, the socially
and politically ruling class, on the other hand, did not concern itself with the
motives of the terrorists and the social conditions that gave rise to them, but
from the outset identified Anarchism with terrorism, in order to discredit a
potent social movement which threatened their class rule and to banish it into
the limbo of common criminality. Anarchists were not represented as
belonging to a social and political movement that aimed at a total
transformation of society, but as madmen or criminals.
106
Walther L. Bernecker
The secret underground groups formed in the South during the 1870s,
although formally belonging to the Spanish Section of the International, from
the outset employed methods that differed from that of the Comision Federal
in Barcelona. The radical stance of the Southern sections, which saw
(individual and collective) terror as the only possible weapon in the struggle
against the economic power of capital and the political power of the State embodied for them in the person of the local cacique -was inevitably bound
on a collision course with the legalistic principles of organisation of
syndicalistically oriented uniones and industrial workers. Anarchism, with its
emphasis on the worker's individuality and autonomy, very soon became the
spiritual home for different social groups; but it was unable to bring together
in a convincing common strategy the industrial and agrarian proletariat and
their differing interests, which resulted from the unequal development of
industrial centres and rural areas. The contrast between town and country,
which became more and more marked as soon as a modern industrial sector
began to develop, had a disastrous effect on the organisation and strategy of
the workers' movement. The effective split of the anarchist workers, organisationally into secret cells and open trade unions, and strategically into
terrorism and legalism, the failure of the FRTE's reformist tactics and massive
repression on the part of the authorities led in the 1880s to the decline of the
International and eventually ( 1888) to its formal dissolution.
The ideological crisis within the International reflected the uneven development of its members' diverging interests. The dissolution of the FRTE in 1888
clearly showed that the Anarcho-Collectivists legalistic-syndicalist course did
not cover the movement's entire spectrum of interests. The terrorist secret
organisations of the agrarian South became part of a long tradition of revolts,
revolutionary conspiracies, armed insurrections and sporadic overthrows that
was a feature of Spain throughout the nineteenth century. The hope for
radical change, which these spontaneous outbreaks reflected, the
Republicans, with their predominantly political and reformist orientation and
their lack of success, were unable to contain. The mass of the peasants
therefore turned to internationalism. The 1880s marked the climax, the crisis
and also the turning point in the fortunes of this development. Now
Anarchism, by a shift in the emphasis of its action, had to prove that it was
capable of co-ordinating the interests of the rural labourers with those of the
urban industrial workers and that it could integrate these into a common
strategy, with the unanimous aim of social revolution.
IV
107
to improve both their objective conditions as a class and to foster at the same
time the class consciousness needed to carry out revolutionary acts, destructive of the existing system. In Catalonia this proposal met with an
unexpectedly enthusiastic response and in 1907 the regional federation
Solidaridad Obrera (Workers' Solidarity) was formed, followed in 1910 by the
Confederaciim Nacional del Trabajo (National Confederation of Workers).
Syndicalism, in the words of G. D. H. Cole, 46 'was both a policy for direct
action in the present and a vision of a society in the future'.
The revolutionary syndicalists followed anarchist traditions, in the sense
that they put their faith in a 'spontaneous' movement of the masses and saw in
any 'authoritarian' organisation a hindrance to the development of a
revolutionary consciousness. The anarcho-syndicalist CNT kept up the
consistent rejection of any party or corporative influence on the processes of
decision, so characteristic of Anarchism. Its anti-political attitude reflected
the concrete experiences of the working-class movement with political parties
and the parliamentary system.
Also in its attitude to the question of violence, the CNT became the
successor to the legalism of the First International, and just like the latter, this
anarcho-syndicalist trade-union federation was unable completely to eradicate terrorist actions from within its own ranks. The tensions inherent in its
membership structure, between its industrial-progressive and agrarianarchaic sector, remained and were reflected in their divergent attitude to the
question of the use of physical force.
In principle, it can be said nevertheless that the Anarchists perceived their
own violent measures usually as being 'derived' from the violent structure of
the state that ruled them: at issue was the destruction of a society characterised
by the violent nature of its class relations; on its ruins they would build an
unviolent and stateless anarchist society. In order to achieve this morally
justified goal, it seemed to them legitimate to use violence in a bourgeois
society held together by force. Anarchist violence thus derived its main
justification from its aim of social transformation. Most of their forms of
violence undeniably contained an element of strategy, that is to say of
deliberation, even if their authors were not always fully conscious of it. But if
we ask what was the practical effect of such violent actions, the answer must be
that at best it produced short-term successes only; in the long term its value
was relatively minimal. Since on the other hand they possessed few other
means of asserting their aims, violence, although ultimately a failure,
represented in most cases the only adequate method for the Desheredados and
Descamisados of the rural South to articulate their dissatisfaction and their
demands.
The history of the CNT, however, belongs to a later phase of Spanish
Anarchism. The rise of a powerful rival in the socialist Union General de
Trabajadores, the economic changes brought about by the First World War
and particularly the influence of the Russian Revolution created completely
108
Walther L. Bernecker
NOTES
l.
On the disputes within the anarchist movement cf. (for example) A. Elorza, La
utopia anarquista bajo Ia segunda republica espanola (Madrid, 1973);
S. J. Brademas, Anarco-sindicalismo y revolucion en Espana ( 1930-1937)
(Barcelona, 1974); C. M. Lorenzo, Los anarquistas espanoles y e/ poder (Paris,
1972).
2. On this issue extensively W. L. Bemecker, Die Soziale Revolution im Spanischen
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
Burgerkrieg. Historisch-politische Positionen und Kontroversen: Mit einer RioBibliographie (Munich, 1977).
Cf. the memoirs of one of the participants of the congress and 'father' of the
Spanish anarchist movement, A. Lorenzo, El proletariado militante, 2 vols.
(Toulouse, 1946); also J. Termes, Anarquismo y sindicalismo en Espana: La
Primera /nternaciona/1864-1881 (Barcelona, 1972).
The opponents of anarchism, in particular, do not differentiate in their usage of
the terms 'anti-political' and 'a-political', in order to ridicule anarchist attitudes.
Anarchists never regarded themselves as 'apolitical'; their antipo/icismo exclusively referred to their refusal to keep to the bourgeois-parliamentarian rules of the
game. On this extensively (with documentary evidence) J. Alvarez Junco, La
ideo/ogia politico del anarquismo espanol ( 1886-1910) (Madrid, 1976) p. 4llff.,
esp. p. 416f.
The Anarchists did however make a qualitative distinction between republic and
monarchy and preferred the former as being more progressive. A unanimous
view on this issue does not appear to have existed; but when the republic was
proclaimed in 1873 they initially assessed it cautiously but positively.
M. Bakunin, 'Die Reaktion in Deutschland' in: R. Beer (ed.), Michael Bakunin:
Philosophie der Tat (Cologne, 1968) p. 77.
Quoted according to Alvarez Junco, p. 455.
Thus at the Barcelona Congress (1870) 'resistance', as a strategy of the workers'
movement, was justified with the argument, that the working class would thereby
gain a better 'intellectual and material' position in their struggle against capital.
Cf. the congress resolutions in A. Lorenzo, vol. 1, pp. 85-120.
M. Bookchin, The Spanish Anarchists: The Heroic Years 1868-1936 (New York,
1977).
Cf. the 'classical' description of the methods of direct action in E. Pouget, Le
sabotage (Paris, 1910).
Cf. A. Lorenzo, pp. 106-8; commentary by Termes, pp. 67-76.
Statistics about the strike incidence of those years in M. Nettlau, La premiere
Jnternationa/e en Espagne (1868-88), 2 vols. (Amsterdam, 1968).
F. Engels, 'Die Bakunisten an der Arbeit: Denkschrift iiber den Aufstand in
Spanien im Sommer 1873', MEW 18, pp. 476-93; on the general context see the
balanced account by C. A. M. Hennessy, The Federal Republic in Spain, Pi y
109
110
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
Walther L. Bernecker
in Spanien', VSWG 59 (1972) pp. 305--49, here p. 329.
For the following cf. R. Perez del Alamo, Apuntes sobre dos revoluciones
andaluzas (Seville, 1872, reprinted Madrid, 1971).
While the leaders were mainly concerned with the abolition of the monarchy and
with political democratisation, the mass of artisans and agricultural labourers,
for whom desamortizacion meant the direct threat of proletarisation, gave to the
rising a primarily social content; for them it was understood that the rebellion
would lead to the abolition of the existing distribution of property and bring the
hoped-for reparto, or communal ownership. They probably had in mind mainly
the common land, which desamortisacion had removed, since no protest has come
to light against Perez del Alamos' proclamation urging that private property
should be respected.
T. Kaplan, Origenes sociales del anarquismo en Andalucia. Capitalismo agrario y
lucha de closes en Ia provincia de Cadiz 1868-1903 (Barcelona, 1977); also C. E.
Lida, Anarquismo y revolucion en Ia Espana del XIX (Madrid, 1972); she opposes
the argument that the Spanish Anarchists were religious millenarians and that the
members of the secret societies were isolated within Spanish society.
Cf. Hobsbawm, Primitive Rebels; and P. Losche, 'Probleme der Anarchismusforschung', JWK 19/20 (1973) pp. 125-44. Losche concludes: 'Andalusian
anarchism was a movement of the poor, and with uncanny clarity it showed up
the interests of the village'; this needs to be qualified and modified by referring to
Kaplan, Origenes socia/es, and to the findings of studies in social anthropology,
which have pointed to the discrepancies that existed between anarchist and
village interests. Cf. J. A. Pitt-Rivers, The People of the Sierra (London, 1954)
pp. 220-3.
H. Ruediger, El anarcosindica/ismo en Ia revolucion espanola (Barcelona, 1938)
p. 44.
G. Woodcock, 'Anarchism in Spain', History Today 12 (1962) pp. 22-32, here
p. 23.
On the same phenomenon in Russian Communism, cf. W. E. Miihlmann,
Chiliasmus und Nativismus: Studien zur Psychologie, Soziologie und historischen
Kasuistik der Umsturzbewegungen (Berlin, 1964) p. 395fT.
In 1883, in Jerez, for instance, a good harvest was expected after several years of
drought. The agricultural labourers promptly began to strike at the beginning of
June (i.e. before the harvest) and provoked a massive intervention by the regional
authorities. On this see Kaplan, p. 257.
For numerous examples of this see Nettlau, p. 313fT.
This form of justifying violence, however, is not characteristic for other trends of
Anarchism; on the whole anarchist doctrine remains sceptical towards active
physical force; this may be attributable to its anthropological optimism, its faith
in the natural harmony of things, its criticism of bourgeois violence. From within
anarchist ranks the advocates of violence are reminded of the virtues of
propaganda, of peaceful means and especially education and training. Cf. C. E.
Lida, 'Literatura anarquista y anarquismo literario', Nueva Revista de Fi/ologia
Hispanica, vol. XIX, 2 (1970), pp. 360-81.
La Revoluci6n Social No. 6, quoted from Alvarez Junco, p. 494.
On this issue generally cf. P. Losche, 'Terrorismus und AnarchismusIntemationale und historische Aspekte', Gewerkschaftliche Monatshefte 2 (1978)
pp. 106-16.
J. Romero Maura, 'Terrorism in Barcelona and its impact on Spanish politics
1904-1909', Past and Present4I (1968) pp. 130-83, herep. 147. From the tum of
the century onwards, however, after the failure of the Catalan general strike of
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
111
1902 and as a result of the economic crisis, the calls in anarchist publications to
violence and to 'propaganda by deed' increased again.
Ibid., p. 152.
C. Tilly, 'Collective Violence in European Perspective' in I. K. Feierabend,
R. L. Feierabend, T. R. Gurr (eds), Anger, Violence and Politics (Englewood Cliffs,
N. J ., 1972). Cf. also P. Waldmann, Strategien politischer Gewalt (Stuttgart, 1977)
pp. 14-18.
Cf. Waldmann, p. 43.
Already in 1872 the Regional Federation had threatened 'civil war, class war, a
war between the poor and the rich' if it were to be declared illegal. Cf. Lida,
Anarquismo y revolucion, p. 255 and Lida, La Mano Negra ( Anarquismo agrario
en Andalucia) (Madrid, 1972) p. 46.
For decades this was also claimed by scholars; the last was G. A. Waggoner, 'The
Black Hand Mystery: Rural Unrest and Social Violence in Southern Spain,
1881-1883' in R. J. Bezucha and D. C. Heath (eds), Modern Social European
History (Lexington, Mass. 1972) pp. 161-91. Since the statutes of the Mano
Negra have come to light, there is now no doubt that this secret organisation did
indeed exist, although the authorities certainly exaggerated its importance.
It is not possible to establish exactly what the relations were between Mano Negra
and FTRE. Lida, who has the greatest knowledge in this matter, points out that
there existed a clear affinity between Mano Negra's statutes and programme on
the one hand, and vocabulary and revolutionary objectives of the International
on the other. The Mano Negra's own statutes indicate such a connection: 'Since
the International Workers Association has been placed outside the law by the
bourgeois governments and is thus prevented from approaching the social
question which requires solution by peaceful means, it had to become a secret
organisation, in order to carry out the social revolution by force.' Lida,
45.
Spain is a country where, from the Napoleonic Wars until the present time,
internal political and social conflicts have repeatedly been marked by both
collective use of violence and individual terror. Thirty-seven of the sixty-nine
years between 1808 and 1876 were characterised either by civil war or by
conditions akin to civil war. Social protest in rural areas as well as class
conflicts were accompanied by aimless revolutionary violence. From the 1880s
onwards the 'philosophy of the bomb', and the pistol, played a dominant role.
In the period between 1897 and 1921 three Spanish prime ministers became
victims of anarchist assassinations. The bloody bomb attacks in the 1890s in
Barcelona, the strategic Anarcho-Syndicalist terrorism at the beginning of
this century, the flood of individual murders by anarchist 'pistoleros' and the
112
113
114
Gerhard Brunn
In their political practice these peripheral nationalisms -as Juan Linz has
called them -conformed to the prevailing system. 6 They operated in a
peaceful, evolutionary manner and rejected revolutionary use of violence. The
protection of their movement through a network of local associations,
parliamentary practice and the exertion of public pressure through mass
demonstrations were the main methods employed to secure their interests.
In Catalonia, for instance, the Catalanists organised the largest demonstrations known so far, they created Spain's first modern party, the Lliga
Regionalista, and, at a time when elections in Spain were no more than a
gerrymandering instrument in the hands of the ruling party, they were able to
press for an electoral system that gave the elected representatives genuine
democratic legitimacy and offered the chance of influencing the decisionmaking process within the framework of the Spanish constitutional system. In
this way, the Catalanists, much more so than the Basque nationalists, were
able to field a large number of deputies on all three parliamentary levels -in
the communes, in provincial or regional parliaments and in the Cortes. 7
Well into the period of the Franco Regime, the use of the threat of violence
played only a peripheral role. It ought not to be overlooked, however, that in
Catalanism at least there have been attempts in specific situations to resort to
the strategic use of violence. The cases that might be cited in this connection,
115
v
During the time of the Second Republic, proclaimed in 1931, both
movements - Catalanism in 1932 and Basque nationalism in 1936 -were
conceded a considerable degree of autonomy, and were given their own
parliament, government, cultural administration and police force, 11 but with
Franco's victory in the Civil War in 1939 these statutes were repealed. Franco,
his political allies and the armed forces were strict adherents of a unitary,
centralist nation state and had also fought the Civil War under the banner of
national unity and territorial integrity; they had left no doubt that they would
not tolerate special regional aspirations, whether political or cultural, and thus
forced even conservative, Catholic Basque nationalists to fight on grimly for
the survival of the anti-clerical Republic. 12 After the defeat of the
Republicans, both the Basque and the Catalan movements were made to
suffer the same unbridled and bloody persecution as all the other defenders of
the Republic. All institutions and associations of both movements were
forbidden, the special provisions for the regions abolished, monuments
destroyed, language and culture in Catalonia and the Basque country
suppressed. For three decades both provinces were dubbed the 'traitor
provinces' in official parlance. 13
The attempt of Francoism to solve the problem of Catalan and Basque
nationalism by rigorous repression ended in complete failure, indeed it
became a model for a misguided policy achieving the opposite of the desired
effect. 14 Repression strengthened the will to oppose and was one of the causes
for the emergence and legitimisation of violence in the Basque country. The
first signs of liberalisation showed that, although the movements had been
subjugated in the Civil War and been held down by the repression that
followed, they had not been defeated. Now they even acquired a model
character for other regions -such as Andalusia -which, before Franco, had
shown no sign of aspiring to autonomy.
In structural and social terms their situation had, if anything, worsened.
The wide gap in the development between the major part of Spain and the
regions, as far as their industrial economic structure and the resulting social
116
Gerhard Brunn
VI
After Franco's victory, the Basque and Catalan movements in their exile
initially followed parallel paths. Their governments-in-exile collaborated with
the Allies in underground activities and after the end of the war organised
actions of propaganda, resistance and protest in Spain, in the hope that the
Allies, after their victory over Hitler's Germany, would also turn against
Franco's Spain and thus help to re-establish Basque and Catalan autonomy
within a Spanish democracy. 20 When the United States recognised Franco
and collaborated with him, this proved to have been an illusion and the old
guard nationalists, disappointed, disillusioned and exhausted, resigned
themselves and to all intents and purposes gave up any further activities in
Spain. 21 Yet at home a new generation of nationalistically minded young
117
Basques and Catalans was thirsting for new deeds. In contrast to the Catalan
youth after the end of the First World War, who rebelled against an allegedly
lukewarm party leadership; founded a new radical, nationalist party and were
even able to develop a rich cultural life under Primo de Rivera's
dictatorship, 22 the young people of the 1950s possessed no legal means to
articulate their aspirations. Activities of the most harmless kind, such as the
hoisting of Basque or Catalan national flags or the painting of slogans, were
considered as 'subversive' or 'separatist' acts and met by brutal repressive
measures -torture, imprisonment and relegation from the university. 23
Under these auspices, there followed in the Basque country- but only
there -a qualitative leap in youthful nationalist opposition to the Franco
Regime. Out of various tentative preliminary organisations there emerged in
July 1959 a new association called ETA -Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (Basque
Country and Freedom). In the course of a few years it developed an internal
structure, ideology and action programme of such efficacy that it was able, by
the new means of strategic use of violence, to tum itself into the most
spectacular opposition group against the Franco Regime.
There is a certain amount to be said for Payne's thesis that the main
determining factors for the particularly radical path the Basque movement
has taken lay in the serious threat to Basque identity, the decline in the Basque
population and language, the disintegration of traditionally Basque social
structures through progressive urbanisation, the participation of a clergy
equally bent on preserving traditional structures and the ties to Catholicism,
in a world caught up in the process of modernisation. In Catalanism, on the
other hand, the same degree of radicalisation was not necessary, since
Catalanism and modernisation were considered as twin movements, and on
the way to a modem society it was thus able to hold its own. 24
The Catalans' power of assimilation shows itself clearly superior to that of
the Basques. Their language, as a romance idiom closely related to Spanish
(Castilian), offers few obstacles to comprehension, it is an established
language of literature; the openness of Catalan society promotes cultural and
psychological 'Catalanisation'. 2 5
In the Basque Country, and especially in the rural, petty bourgeois milieu
where Basque nationalism continues to find its strongest support, people have
always been more inward-looking, more particularist. Moreover, the Basque
language is a totally alien body among its romance neighbours and difficult to
adapt to modem requirements. During a survey conducted in 1966 in
Catalonia, 90 per cent of those interviewed declared that they understood
Catalan, and 62 per cent that they could read it; the comparative figures for the
Basque country are 49 per cent and 25 per cent respectively. 26 In addition,
Catalan is firmly rooted in the trend-setting middle class and knowledge of the
language thus means a passport to social advance in Catalonia. The Basque
language, by contrast, is mainly spoken in the country and a whiff of the
backwoods attaches to it. Catalan nationalists publish and are understood;
118
Gerhard Brunn
119
and the creation of a sovereign Basque state. Linked to this and prompted by a
new kind of irredentism was the demand for a sovereign Basque state that
would also include the French Basque provinces beyond the Pyrennees, which
in tum meant that ETA's struggle in the long run would have to be directed
against France as well. 37
After several years it became clear, however, that the concept of a national
war of liberation, on the pattern of similar struggles in the Third World, was
not appropriate to the Basque situation; influenced by classical models of
Socialism in the Third World and the writings of the new Left, this resulted in
a shift from national-revolutionary to social-revolutionary objectives. The
anti-imperialist fight against an occupying force was re-interpreted as an antioligarchical class war against the dominant middle class in Spain, amongst
which they also counted the 'denationalising' Basque middle class that was
associated with it. 38 Consistently thought through, this path was bound to
lead away from the isolated Basque class struggle and merge into the joint
struggle of the working class in Spain as a whole against a common class
120
Gerhard Brunn
121
122
Gerhard Brunn
123
124
Gerhard Brunn
While in the 'holiday war' care had still been taken that no one was hurt, the
three combined attempts in Madrid last July for the first time resulted in
innocent bystanders being killed. It appears, however, as if ETA, in the face of
massive criticism, even from within its own ranks, and under threat
of impending total isolation has once more confined itself to its older types
of target. 64
The means to finance organisation, actions and full-time terrorists -the
liberados (the liberated ones) -ever since 1967 have been obtained by regular
robberies, usually involving the theft of large sums of money, but also of
weapons, explosives, passport forms, duplicating machines and motor cars. It
is only since the start of such systematic raids that ETA has been at all able
to embark on terrorist campaigns or actions requiring large expenditure, such
as the assassination of Carrero Blanco. After the first years of armed raids,
perfected security measures made this method of obtaining financial means
increasingly difficult. For this reason ETA came to prefer extortion, either by
taking hostages or, more effectively, by levying a so-called 'revolutionary
tax' -payments extracted by threats from companies or individuals. 65
X
Despite ETA's secret nature, the main structural outlines ofits organisation
are known. Just as it did in its ideology, strategy and tactics, in its organisation
structures it also tried out the examples provided by other movements -for
instance by communist models -and adapted them to Basque needs in a
dialectic interplay of theory and practice. Yet here, too, problems of
continuity arose, since accumulated experiences perished with the dead, the
arrested, the exiled. The inexperienced younger generation thus tended to
repeat the old mistakes. 66 The structural principles on which ETA's present
organisation is based were already established in its early days and have since
been merely modified or perfected, if we take for the time being the
organisational reform of 1974 as marking the last stage. Until that date a
unified structure cannot be said to have existed and central direction was
exercised only imperfectly. The various organisational areas, the 'military'
sphere and the so-called 'fronts', operated autonomously and relatively
independent of each other. At this stage decisions were still taken by groups of
colleagues, the so-called mesas de direcciim. 67 This has come to an end with the
introduction of the principle of 'democratic centralism' in 1974. 68 While the
general or national assembly (Biltza Nagusia), composed of representatives of
the various branches of the organisation, still remains the supreme organ and
decides on ideology and strategy, the top executive organ nevertheless plays a
dominant role, despite the tendencies of this executive committee to become
too independent -something that has been watched with mistrust. It is this
committee which controls ETA activities, selects active combatants -the
125
liberados and those 'responsible' for the different areas of organisation. Until
1974 it was the task of the 'fronts' to establish pioneering organisations among
students and workers, generally to influence the social ambiance by agitation
and organisation, to make it receptive to ETA's ideas and to create the
familiar and protective conditions under whose umbrella violent action and
the recruitment of new members became in the long term possible. Now the
fronts were abolished, or rather dismissed as independent from the immediate
ETA organisation, and replaced by sections that are under the direct rule of
the executive committee. These sections are completely separated from each
other, according to a by-now-well-established cell principle, so as to avoid the
danger of a chain reaction when one cell is discovered. Now only individuals,
those 'responsible act as link men'. 69 The organisational pattern, as of
September 1975, pieced together by Kaufmann, reveals a somewhat more
complex picture (Fig. 9.1 ).
General Assembly
I
I
Executive Committee
Special Commandos
Herrialdes
1 2 3 4
Autonomous Branches
Section Euskadi
North
Special
section
External
Committee
Control
Section
Prisoners'
Office
Euskal
Culture
Pol it.
Bureau
Weapon
Depots
Propaganda
Dept.
Finance
Dept.
Editorial
Office
Figure 9.1
This organisational structure indicates that ETA consists of more than just
a small nucleus of terrorist cadres. It possesses a developed organisational
network which permits it to safeguard its terrorist activities within a wider
social context and to make political use of them far more effectively than
would be the case if it commanded no more than a diffuse, unstructured circle
of sympathisers. It becomes cleat that it was not merely the attested
professional incompetence of the police and the fact that it was an alien body
in hostile surroundings which prevented it from waging a successful battle
against ETA, but also the fact that ETA, by means of its organisational
structure, was able both to react flexibly to repressive measures and to find
new catchment and recruitment areas as soon as the active terrorist spearhead
and parts of the organisation fell victim to repressive measures.
126
Gerhard Brunn
127
128
Gerhard Brunn
Cambio 16, when 38 per cent of those interviewed agreed with the proposition:
'I condemn terror, but I can understand it', and 74 per cent believed that terror
was directed only against people of a particular ideology. 79
The breakthrough for ETA came in 1970, when the regime, in a show trial in
Burgos against the first generation of actual ETA terrorists, was attempting to
destroy the source of agitation. A wave of indignation, unknown in this form
since the end of the Civil War, swept through the country and dealt the first
severe blow to a regime on the way towards its decline. The German magazine
Stern wrote at the time that this show trial had turned into the Stalingrad of
the Franco Regime. 80 An even more disastrous defeat for the regime came
with a hitherto unknown wave of demonstrations and general strikes, with the
mobilisation of world opinion against Spain as a response to the government's
second major attempt to eliminate ETA once and for all, by employing every
means of repression at its disposal. 81
It became evident that the Franco Regime had in part nourished terrorism
and also made it possible; and that now, because of domestic developments
and the ties to Western democratic countries and the consequent vulnerability
to domestic and external criticism, repression could not be kept up as
rigorously and absolutely as in the early days of the regime. 82
A further factor in ETA's success was the open border with France, where
the underground fighters could find shelter with sympathising French Basques
and where, thanks to the practice of the French government (until 1979) of
regarding them as political refugees, they were safe from persecution,
expulsion or extradition. 8 3
XII
How should the results of ETA terrorism be assessed? One may agree with
Letamandia's judgement that the Basque movement has been a catalyst in the
regime's decomposition and that in this process ETA has played the role of the
explosive charge. 84 The assassination of Carrero Blanco, probably the only
man capable of filling the gap left by Franco's death, certainly shortened the
survival of the regime by several years at least. 85
Beyond that, and contrary to Maravall's argument -which ascribes the
decisive role in the process of replacing the Franco Regime to workers and
students alone, and to their mobilising public resistance against it by strikes
and demonstrations- one will have to concede that ETA and its terrorist and
propagandist activities, as far as the Basque country is concerned, certainly
achieved at least some significant initial impact. 86 One will also have to ascribe
to the work of ETA, in both its manifestations, a large part of the nationalist
radicalisation that has gripped the Basque country. The result of this has also
been that the schematisation of the political spectrum into right, middle of the
road and left, usual elsewhere, has acquired only secondary significance
129
compared to the division into Basque or nationalist orientation and an allSpanish one. A further mark of ETA's remarkable, continuing success and the
assimilation of its ideas into the country's politics, is the success of the parties
(or party groupings) close to both its wings- Herri Batasuna (Unified People)
and Euskadido Eskerra (Basque Left)- in the Basque elections of 1979 and
1980. They proved that the parties of an all-Spanish persuasion - at least in
the situation of 1979/80- lost ground in favour of nationalist parties.
Although PVN's socially and politically moderate nationalism of Christian
orientation in the elections to the Basque parliament was able to attract the
majority of electors (25 seats), the Herri Batasuna party, close to the violent
ETA militar, nevertheless extended its vote and became the second largest
grouping (11 seats). Taken together with the deputies of Euskadido Eskerra
(6), a third of all representatives in the Basque parliament now belong to
parties maintaining close links with terrorist ETA organisations. The latter,
according to their own statements, can be expected to continue their violent
actions, since they aim at complete independence for the Basque country and
believe that this can only be achieved by terrorist activities. 87
Beyond its immediate effect on the Basque country itself, ETA has placed a
vast burden on democracy in Spain and is the cause, directly or indirectly, of
the latent danger of a reactionary counterblow. In its wake, radical groups of
left and right have come into being which employ the terrorist methods ETA
has used in the Basque country, in order to pursue their objectives on a
nationwide level. In the Basque country, too, ETA terror since 1975 has
provoked constantly increasing counter-terror by radical right-wing groups
which, under the auspices of Francoist ideas and in order to preserve the
Spanish nation and its territorial integrity, have embarked on a new form of
civil war against ETA members, institutions and suspected sympathisers.
They do not confine their murderous attempts to Spanish territory, but extend
their Spanish-nationalist motivated private justice to ETA representatives
living in the French Basque region as well. 88 Just as the sorcerer's apprentice
invoked spirits he could no longer control, ETA has opened the floodgates to a
spate of terrorism of very diverse origins. The viability of democracy in Spain
will depend on its ability to master terrorism.
NOTES
1. On the chronic state of war during the nineteenth century, cf. N. Sales, 'Servei
militar i societat a l'Espanya del segle XIX', Recerques I (1970) pp. 145-81. On
the tradition of anarchist violence, cf. W. L. Bemecker's contribution in this
volume.
2. E. J. Hobsbawm, Revolutionaries: Contemporary Essays (London, 1973) p. 106.
3. G. Brunn, 'Regionalismus.und sozialer Wandel: Das Beispiel Katalonien', in 0.
Dann (ed.), Nationalismus und sozia/er Wandel (Hamburg, 1978) pp. 157-85.
4. G. Brunn, 'Die Organisation der katalanischen Bewegung 1859-1923', in Th.
130
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
II.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
Gerhard Brunn
Schieder and 0. Dann (eds), Nationale Bewegung und soziale Organisation
(Munich, 1978) pp. 281-339.
Because of their restricted practical political aims, both movements are usually
described as autonomist or regionalist. In terms of ideology, however, they are
nationalist movements. For an analysis of the ideology ofCatalanism during its
emergence see J. Soil~-Tura, Catalanismo y revolucion burguesa (Madrid, 1970).
For the Basque country, cf. J. J. Solozabal Echavarria, E/ primer nacionalismo
vasco: Industrialismo y conciencia nacional (Madrid, 1975); J. C. Larrouche, El
nacionalismo vasco: Su origen y su ideo/ogia en Ia obra de Sabino Arana Goiri (San
Sebastian, 1978).
J. Linz, 'Early State-Building and Late Peripheral Nationalism against the State:
The Case of Spain', inS. M. Lipset and S. Rokkan (eds), Building States and
Nations, vol. 2 (Beverley Hills, 1973) pp. 32-ll6.
Cf. Brunn, Organisation, pp. 341-539.
Ibid., p. 312f., 382f.
Cf. the reports of the trial of Macia in France. Estat Catalti, La Catalogne
Rebelle: Tout /e proces des conjures catalans, precede d'une notice sur Ia Catalogne
et son mouvement national et suivi de quelques documents officiels (Paris, 1927).
On the tying in of this attempted insurrection into the framework of the more
general revolutionary movements in October 1934, P. Preston, 'Spain's October
Revolution and the Rightist Grasp for Power', JCH 10 (1975) p. 571. Critical
remark by R. Carr, Spain 1808-1939 (Oxford, 1966) p. 633f. More recent
descriptions from the Catalan point of view, J. Ma. Poblet, Historia de /'Esquerra
Republicana de Catalunya 1931-1936 (Barcelona, 1976) pp. 211-24.
Text of the statute in J. A. Gonzales Casanova, Federalismo i Autonomia a
Catalunya ( 1868-1838): Documents (Barcelona, 1974) pp. 745-54 and 851-60.
W. Haubrich and C. R. Moser, Francos Erben: Spanien auf dem Weg in die
Gegenwart (Cologne, 1976) p. II 0. The socially conservative Catalan bourgeoisie,
organised in the Lliga Regionalista, on the other hand, sympathised with the
Franco side. Cf. the indications in J. A. Parpal and J. M. Llad6, Ferran Valls y
Taberner: Un politic per Ia cultura catalana (Barcelona, 1970) p. 223fT. They were
nevertheless discriminated against after 1939 and remained excluded from
political influence.
Haubrich, p. l 10; N. L. Jones, 'The Catalan Qu~stion since the Civil War' in
P. Preston (ed.), Spain in Crisis: The Evolution and Decline of the Franco Regime
(Hassocks, 1976) p. 236fT; S. G. Payne, Basque Nationalism (Reno, 1975) p. 177fT.
Haubrich, p. l 10.
On the socio-economic development of the Basque country under the aspect of
post-war nationalism, cf. Payne, p. 230fT; for a comparison between Catalonia
and the Basque country seeS. G. Payne, 'Regional Nationalism: The Basques
and the Catalans' in W. T. Salisbury and J. Theberge (eds), Spain in the 1970s:
Economics, Social Structure, Foreign Policy (New York, 1976) pp. 76-102; cf.
also Jones, p. 252f, 257.
For the Catalan case cf. Jones, p. 252f, 257.
Thus the correspondent of Le Monde, Ch. Vanhecke, Le Monde (26/10/1979).
How many true 'nationalities' there are in Spain, apart from Basques and
Catalans, or might be resusciated or even created, will probably be a matter of
controversy for many years. Nationality and the desire for regional autonomy
need not be identical. This is shown by the example of Andalusia, whose wish for
autonomy was for the time being not to be realised by the referendum of 2 March
1980. Cf. the report by W. Haubrich in Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung
(4/3/1980).
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
131
Gerhard Brunn
132
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
The first theoretician, Krutwig, of German descent, had also read Clausewitz,
Letamandia, p. 164.
43. Ibid., p. 166ff.
44. Kaufmann, p. 54.
45. Ibid., p. l37ff; Letamandia, p. 169, 174; J.P. Mogui, Revolte des Basques (Paris,
1970) p. 65f.
46. On Third World influences and on the provocation of a revolutionary people's
war by guerilla activities cf. Kaufmann, p. 135ff; Letamandia, p. 166f. In 1967 one
group split off from ETA and tried to establish guerilla groups in the mountains;
ibid., p. 171; Mogui, p. 72f. In 1971 the arming of the 'people's army' was still so
ridiculously inadequate that in a direct confrontation it would have been defeated
within minutes; Amigo, p. 25f.
47. Marighella's writings remained for years the preferred theoretical reading for
many ETA militants, Amigo, p. 93; further Aguado Sanchez, no. 18, p. 19, 21;
Letamandia, p. 196; Mogui, p. 47f.
48. Letamandia, p. 203, 205, 207; Pastor Castillo, p. 166. On ETA's theory of
violence and its justification during the 1970s cf. Amigo, p. 161ff; (documentary
appendix) and the documents in: Operation Menschenfresser: Wie und warum wir
Carrero Blanco hingerichtet haben - ein authentischer Bericht und Dokumente von
E. T. A. (Spanish title: Operacion ogro), (Hendaye, 1974) p. 166ff. Most recently
the declarations of both wings of ETA on the autonomy referendum, Le Monde
(19/10/79).
49. Sartre speaks of the withdrawal of the 'humanist right', Sartre, p. 24. On the
~0.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
133
motives of those who withdrew cf. the interview with one of them in Pastor
Castillo, p. 126fT.
Cf. Amigo, p. 30f, 47fT, 54fT, 68fT; Letamandia, p. 200, 204f.
This split, prompted more than anything else by questions of strategy and tactics,
is described and documented in detail in Amigo, p. 78fT and 201fT; Letamandia.
p. 205fT. In the meantime however, different political weightings have evolved.
Whereas ETA politico-militar pursues primarily social-revolutionary aims, ETA
militar sees its struggle essentially as one of national liberation. Xavier Arzallus in
Der Spiege/44 (1979) p. 147. On the assessment of both wings cf. also Frankfurter
Rundschau (16/11/79).
On ETA's public pronouncement at a press conference that in a democracy
political mass organisations must take precedence, cf. Pastor Castillo, p. 166.
This statement was made in connection with the prospective foundation of a
party with close links to ETA po/itico-militar. The leading ideologist of this party,
Pertur, exerted political and ideological pressure in favour of political activity
instead of violence. It is possible that his disappearance without trace in 1976 is
connected with this. Cf. Amigo, p. 93f; also Letamandia, p. 205.
The first wave was connected with the Basque 5th assembly, after which ETA was
sometimes called ETA V. The new ETA, oriented on more universalist and classwar lines ( 1970), on the other hand, was called ETA VI. On this tum of events,
Letamandia, p. 175fT; Aguado Sanchez, no. 18, p. 14fT. The prosecution at the
Bugos trial (1970) for the three previous years listed nine armed raids, three
murders and 46 officially recorded bomb attempts, Halimi, p. 261.
The first great wave of arrests had followed the first two assassination attempts.
The next followed in 1963. After a lengthy phase of conscious reconstruction and
quiessence on the part of ETA (Mogui, p. 65fT.), ETA's first murder (in August
1968) was answered by the most ruthless measures of persecution hitherto, so that
in 1970 ETA -also because of the split -had to begin again virtually at zero
(Halimi, p. 190f; Mogui, p. 75; Amigo, p. 23). After it had been restructured,
action and repression followed in ever more rapid cycles (Amigo, p. 27f., 50,
71fT.). A similarly brief phyrric victory as in 1969/70 the security authorities
achieved again in 1975, with an unprecedented deployment of resources. ETA's
infra-structure was smashed almost completely. Only one commando remained
intact (Amigo, p. 101fT.), yet in 1976 the series of attempts and murders
nevertheless continued unbroken, cf. Equipo Cinco, Victimas del postfranquismo. 55 muertos: Balance tragico de un ano de terror (Madrid, 1978) p.
19fT. 1979/80 saw a new climax of terror, after a comparatively peaceful previous
year. With 19 lethal attempts between January and March 1980 alone, ETA
embarked on the most bloody wave of terror so far. Cf. V. Mauersberger,
'Francos Erben vor dem Richter', Die Zeit I 0 (29 /2/1980). On the question of the
psychological barrier cf. Amigo, p. 70.
A detailed chronicle of terrorist activities between 1967-1970 by Aguado
Sanchez, no. 18, p. 14fT; also from November 1975-February 1977 in Equipo
Cinco.
On the first lethal clashes Aguado Sanchez, no. 18, p. 22fT, 34fT; Letamandia,
p. 177; Amigo, p. 28, stresses the involuntary nature ofthe murders of policemen
during the first years.
On Meliton Manzanas, the 'operacion Sagarra' cf. Aguado Sanchez, no. 18,
p. 24fT; Letamandia, p. 177f; Kaufmann, p. 9fT; ibid., p. 115fT. on Carrero Blanco.
Also Letamandia, p. 20lf; especially Operacion ogro, the perpetrators' own
chronicle of events.
Cf. Amigo, p. 70; Gaurhuts, p. 66, stresses ETA's new 'technical perfection' since
134
59.
60.
61.
62.
63.
64.
65.
66.
67.
68.
69.
70.
71.
72.
73.
Gerhard Brunn
1974. On the murders from this time onwards, here and there Letamandia,
p. 209fT. From the autumn of 1975 onwards, Equipo Cinco, p. 9 passim. Until
1976 army officers were not among the targets of ETA's terror, after that they were
attacked all the more vigorously. Between November 1976 and September 1979
l3 officers were murdered by ETA; cf. Le Monde (21/9/79).
An extensive account of the first two kidnappings in Kaufmann, p. 151fT;
Letamandia, p. 195, 199. On the criticism within ETA's ranks and by illegal
Spanish workers' commissions, the comisiones obreras, Amigo, p. 43fT. The
kidnapping of the German consul Behl in 1970 had other reasons, Aguado
Sanchez, no. 18, p. 42fT.
Kaufmann, p. 189fT; Archiv der Gegenwart, p. 21062 ((22/6/1977); Amigo,
p. 124fT, claims that the first murder had been a matter of controversy also within
ETA politico-militar.
Frankfurter Rundschau (16/11/79).
On the background to this kidnapping, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung
(14/ll/79).
Equipo Cinco, p. 42.
Le Monde (l/8/79, 4/8/79, 19/10/79).
Amigo, p. 25fT, 12lf. The first extortions were modelled on the example of the
Algerian FLN, Mogui, p. 69. On the numerous bank raids until the end of 1970 cf.
Aguado Sanchez, no. 18, p. 15fT, 22, 33, 38f.; Letamandia, p. 199. On the
revolutionary levy see Kaufmann, p. 174. On the continuing ofthis practice to the
present day, Le Monde (27/9/79). The first significant arms purchases on
the international market were initiated in 1971, Amigo, p. 28; Kaufmann, p. 79fT.
Amigo, p. l09f.
Halimi, p. 272; Aguado Sanchez, no. 18, p. 31. On the basic traits of this
organisation until the reform of 1974, which was subject to numerous
modifications, cf. Letamandia, p. l63f, l67f, 174, 177, 180; Aguado Sanchez, no.
17, p. 27, 30f, 47, 5lf, and no. 18, p. l3f; Halimi. p. 186.
Gaurhuts, p. 34; Amigo, p. 53; Pastor Castillo, p. 166.
On the executive committee see Kaufmann, p. 69. On the reform of 1974,
Gaurhuts, p. 58, 64fT; Pastor Castillo, p. 166. On the principle of fronts, an
attempt to adapt the Vietnamese example to Basque conditions, cf. Aguado
Sanchez, no. 18, p. l3f; Sartre, p. 25; Halimi, p. 189, 285; Mogui, p. 74f;
Letamandia, p. 172, 174. Apart from its work in cultural, political and workers'
organisations, ETA also tried to build up local branches. Cf. P. Celhay, Consejos
de guerra en Espana: Fascismo contra Euskadi (Paris, 1976) p. 25. For reasons of
security, greater mobility and in order to control the executive committee and to
give important actions a broader membership base, the 'small committee'
(BT = Biltaz Txikia) was established in 1967 as the highest authority between
general assemblies; its members were /iberados and the men with overall
responsibility for branches of the organisation or zones, Halimi, p. 186, 268fT;
Letamandia, p. 124.
Kaufmann, p. 68.
Ibid., p. 78fT; Archiv der Gegenwart, p. 21901 (ll/7/1977).
Kaufmann, p. 87f. On the earlier period cf. Letamandia, p. 164; Mogui, p. 76f.
These were established as organisational units after the wave of arrests in 1963.
Halimi, p. 86; also Aguado Sanchez, no. 17, p. 29f., 47. The number ofherrialdes
obviously varied in the course of time from seven to six to four.
Kaufmann, p. 85, 92fT. The Basque name for these commandos is irurko (three).
The immediate instigation for the establishment of this kind of combat cell came
from the Algerian FLN. Cf. Letamandia, p. 166, 177; also Mogui, p. 68; Aguado
Sanchez, no. 17, p. 31 and no. 18, p. 13.
135
74. On methods of recruiting members, ibid., p. 36f; Mogui, p. 66; Halimi, p. 289;
Kaufmann, p. 91fT.
75. Liberados were introduced after the wave of arrests of 1963, ibid., p. 186;
Kaufmann, p. 91fT. On the gradation of members from simple sympathisers to
liberados, cf. Mogui, p. 68; Aguado Sanchez, no. 17, p. 30f.
76. Kaufmann, p. 93. At the fifth assembly for instance, where the active nucleus was
represented, 40 participated in the first phase and some 70 in the second
phase, Halimi, p. 282.
77. Kaufmann, p. 69fT. Biographies of the defendants in Burgos in Halimi, p. 262fT. A
detailed biographical sketch of a leading member of the 70s, Pertur, who vanished
without trace in 1976, in Amigo.
78. Quoted in Kaufmann, p. 91.
79. Equipo Cinco, p. 42. On the stylisation of killed ETA members into martyrs, see
Mogui, p. 267f; Halimi, p. 190f; on the feeling ofliving in an occupied country, cf.
the situation report in Frankfurter Rundschau (28/6/75). ETA's popularity
interpreted as the consequence of its fight against repression in Le Monde,
(27 /10/79).
80. Quoted, along with many foreign press comments, by Halimi, p. 217. On the
Burgos trial there exist both sympathetic and condemnatory accounts. Condemnatory of ETA, F. de Arteaga, 'ETA 'y el proceso de Burgos (Madrid, 1971 ).
Sympathetic, K. Salaberri, El proceso de Euskadi en Burgos (Paris, 1971).
81. A detailed chronicle of the turbulent year 1975 by Celhay. On this cf. also Archiv
der Gegenwart (28/10/75) pp. 19796-8. The fact that the combined acts of
violence by the security forces and the trials with their death sentences in the end
did not achieve their desired result, despite short term successes, is proved by the
chronicle of terror in subsequent years. Cf. Equipo Cinco and Archiv der
Gegenwart (22/6/77) pp. 21080-2.
82. On the thesis that repression of terrorism must be absolute if it is not to fail, cf.
Laqueur, p. 180. The question is, whether the increased professionalism of the
police, partly with German aid, and rooting it in the Basque country, as has
recently been tried, will make the fight against ETA more successful. Cf. Arzallus,
p. 147; Ortots, Die Basken (Munich, 1979) p. 79fT. The brutal methods employed
by Spanish security forces are documented and have been frequently described.
Cf. the Report of an Amnesty International Mission to Spain: July 1975; Mogui,
p. 79fT; Batasuna, Le repression au pays basque (Paris, 1970). Basque publications
tend to deplore police repression and to remain silent on ETA terror. Cf. for
instance J.-K. Narbarte, Mil dias de Ia dictadura ale pre-autonomia en Euskadi
(San Sebastian, 1978).
83. Archiv der Gegenwart (31/1/79) p. 22357; Ch. Vanhecke, 'La France et ses
ressortissants au pays basque payennt cher l'appui donne au gouvemement
Suarez', Le Monde (27/9/79) p. 7.
84. Letamandia, p. 218.
85. This is also the opinion of foreign observers, quoted ibid., p. 202.
86. Thus for instance J. Maravall, Dictatorship and Political Dissent: Workers and
Students in Franco's Spain (London, 1978) p. II. Emphasis on ETA's catalyst
character during the mass demonstrations and general strikes of 1974---6 in Paul
and Otaegui, p. 65.
87. Maier, p. 247. A brief and subtle analysis of the political situation in the Basque
country at the beginning of 1980 by H.-J. Puhle, 'Ein Kunstwort flir das
Baskenland: Ein Spezialfall des Separatismus und seine Wurzeln', Das Parlament
XXX/3 (19/1/80) p. 13. The immunity of two Cortes deputies, members of Herri
Batasuna, who refused to take part in the sessions of, in their words, a foreign
parliament, while however claiming its privileges, was removed at the end of
136
Gerhard Brunn
10 Traditions of Violence
in the Irish National
Movement
Peter Alter
I
138
Peter Alter
that existed in practice. From the time of Daniel O'Connell, the constitutional
wing was represented by a number of prominent parliamentary leaders and
political associations. The political objective of constitutional nationalism
was Irish autonomy, without, however, challenging in principle Ireland's
affiliation to the English Crown. 2 The older revolutionary line of Irish
nationalism, by contrast, justified its position by pointing to the superior goal
of an independent Irish republic whose realisation set no limits as to the choice
of means for its achievement.
In the present, necessarily brief, sketch attention will be focused on the
revolutionary wing within the Irish national movement. My primary aim here
is not to examine what significance individual organisations may have had for
modem Irish history, but to give a rough outline of the manifold organisational forms revolutionary nationalism took in Ireland, based on the
recorded data about all known organisations of more than regional importance within the Irish national movement since the eighteenth century. 3
Under the heading of revolutionary nationalism I shall include all those
bodies which have either stood for socially or politically revolutionary
programmes or which, in the pursuit of their objectives, employed illegal
means or indeed violence. On the basis of this material, sometimes inevitably
incomplete, I shall outline, in the second part of my paper, the revolutionary
political practices of this particular variant of Irish nationalism and, in the
interests of making the evidence more generally relevant, deliberately
abbreviate, simplify and categorise. However, the typological method employed here does not mean that particular features in individual cases will be
excluded- iffor no other reason than to avoid the risk of forcing the historical
evidence into a rigid, abstract pattern. Sketching on a third aspect -that
is, the social structure of revolutionary Irish nationalism -is something I shall
have to forego here. 4
Before going any further, one point about the history of the Irish national
movement from the late eighteenth century onwards needs to be made first. If
we consider the entire course of the Irish national movement up to the creation
of the Irish Free State in 1921/22, we find that it was undoubtedly
constitutional nationalism in its various forms which played the dominant
role. Only the constitutional organisations were able to pursue their- from
today's viewpoint -moderate aims by legal means, while the organisations of
revolutionary nationalism automatically provoked counter-measures by the
police, thus setting a time limit to the existence of such bodies or forcing them
underground. For this reason, the long periods of agitation on the part of
constitutional nationalist groupings, as for instance on the issues of Catholic
emancipation, the repeal of the Act of Union and Home Rule, were
interrupted only intermittently by unsuccessful, if spectacular, manifestations
of revolutionary nationalism, as for example the attempted rebellions of 1803,
1848 and 1867 or during the plots of 1867 and 1882, already referred to. They
provided incontrovertible indications that ever since the last third of the
139
Feliks Gross, in his study of Violence in Politics, observed that terror can last
for a long time and can even become institutionalised within a society. 5 This
observation is based particularly on the historical evidence of terrorism in
Eastern Europe in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, but can equally be
applied to the Ireland of the same period. Irish revolutionary nationalism ever
since the late eighteenth century can be said to fall into three main categories:
Secret Societies, Revolutionary Agrarian Societies and Paramilitary
Organisations. They established a tradition of violence which extends directly
into our own times. Here follows a brief outline of the rise of these societies
and their organisation.
From the eighteenth century onwards Secret Societies and Brotherhoods of
regional or supra-regional dimensions were able to exert an influence on Irish
politics and Irish nationalism to a degree probably unequalled elsewhere in
Western Europe. These societies, which existed in many countries, have so far
been the subject of only limited research. Eric J. Hobsbawm has recently urged
the desirability of this type of study, 6 which is rendered more difficult, because
source material about the development, organisation and the activities of such
societies is scant and has been handed down in a somewhat random fashion. 7
On the basis of more or less reliable literature - which still remains to be
supplemented by detailed local and regional studies- and of printed sources it
is nevertheless possible to make some general observations about Irish secret
societies. x
(1) In contrast to other European countries, the early secret societies in
Ireland from the mid-eighteenth century onwards were almost exclusively
agrarian in origin. They emerged particularly in times of economic depression
or rising rents, whereas the later, supra-regional secret societies had predominantly political objectives and started in the cities.
(2) Well into the middle of the nineteenth century, the overriding aim of
most secret societies of the proletarianised Irish rural population was
the struggle against, or the removal of pressing economic and social grievances,
resulting from the prevailing agrarian structure. The secret societies were
140
Peter Alter
141
142
Peter Alter
southern and south-western Europe from the time of the French Revolution
onwards. 25 At best, these early secret peasant societies represented political
programmes of the most rudimentary sort. Their members were still largely
'pre-political'. 26 For the Irish national movement, however, these societies
were of considerable importance. Not only was their tradition as organisations for the protection of tenants -reflected in their heroic idealisation in
the tales and ballads of folklore -continued by subsequent national
organisations, but by their acts of violence against social and political
conditions, which were felt to be oppressive, and by demonstrating the efficacy
of joint action, they also helped to mobilise the population politically: 'The
significance of these rural movements in the shaping of a national consciousness appears to have been considerable, for ... they helped, in particular, to
preserve a sense of group identity.' 27
The earliest instance of a secret society with primarily political and
national aims was the Society of United Irishmen, which until it was banned in
1794, claimed to be a constitutional association. 28 Its objective was the
removal of British rule in Ireland in favour of an independent Irish republic.
The realisation of this goal, as the attempted rebellion of 1798 was to prove
amply, did not preclude the use of violence. It was a characteristic feature of
the United Irishmen that their main bases were in Belfast and Dublin and that
they were hardly able to gain a foothold in the countryside. They were the first
in Irish history to discover that, given the existing social problems and the
means of communication at that time, it was extremely difficult to mobilise the
rural population with a purely political programme.
What the United Irishmen had attempted in vain, i.e. to extend their
organisation throughout the entire country, the Irish Republican Brotherhood
(IRB) sixty years later was able to achieve to a considerable degree. The IRB
was the most important secret political society of nineteenth-century Ireland,
whose activities continued up to the second decade of the twentieth century. 29
It was founded in 1858 in Dublin by Irish Americans, immediately after the
establishment of its sister organisation in the US, the Fenian Brotherhood. 30
The connection between the American and the Irish organisations was always
a close one and this led eventually to the name 'Fenians' being extended to the
members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood as well. 31
The IRB was notable for four characteristics:
( 1) For a time it possessed a well-developed organisation in many parts of
the country, modelled mainly on traditional agrarian societies and on the
hierarchical organisational patterns of French and Italian secret societies. F o~
the IRB, too, the chief element for its cohesion was provided by the oath all
members were obliged to swear. 32 1ts basic organisational unit was the 'circle',
organised along lines similar to military command structures. The 'circle'
usually covered one or several counties, or a town or part of a town, and was
led by a 'centre', or 'A', or 'colonel'. An 'A' commanded nine 'B's or
'captains', one 'B' nine 'C's or 'sergeants', and one 'C' in turn commanded
143
nine 'D's or 'soldiers'. Thus a 'circle', fully structured on this pattern, would
contain a total of 820 members. 33
Organisational pattern of an IRB 'circle':
=
I
9
81
=729
820 members
In theory, a rank and file member of the IRB (a 'D') was supposed to know
only the eight men of his own section and his immediate superior. In practice
this was impossible to achieve, and thus neither the system of circles- which
appears more like a game of arithmetic- nor the oath provided adequate
protection against the police or traitors within their own ranks. Leon
0 Broin 's study in particular has shown very clearly how remarkably well the
police were informed about IRB activities. 34 Moreover, the size of the circles
varied considerably: on occasion some of them were claimed to have
numbered over 2,000. 35
After the abortive rebellion of 1867, the new head of the Irish Republican
Brotherhood was the Supreme Council. 36 As the only overall head of a
national association in Ireland, the Supreme Council claimed comprehensive
political authority. According to the IRB's revised statutes, it constituted 'in
fact as well as by right the sole government of the Irish Republic', and its
decrees 'shall be the laws of the Irish Republic until the territory thereof shall
have been recovered from the English enemy and a permanent government
established'. 37 As a consequence, the IRB immediately formed provisional
Irish governments during the insurrections of 1867 and 1916, but it is not
entirely clear whether the Supreme Council expressly constituted itself as such
or whether it continued to exist parallel to it. The local circles in Ireland and
those of the Irish immigrants in England and Scotland were grouped into
seven 'electoral divisions' under 'provincial centres', 38 each of which was
represented by a delegate elected for a two-year term. The seven delegates in
tum coopted four 'honorary members', so that the Supreme Counl:tl
numbered eleven members in all. Since, for geographical reasons alone, this
body could only meet occasionally (as a rule twice yearly), the actual
command of the IRB was in the hands of an executive committee, elected from
among the Supreme Council's eleven members.
(2) The IRB affirmed unconditionally that it would use every kind of
violence in order to gain its political objective: an Irish republic independent
of Britain. Both insurrection attempts during the lifetime of the IRB, the
144
Peter Alter
Fenian Rising of 1867 and the Dublin Easter Rising of 1916, were inspired and
supported by it. It was this extremism with regard to both political objectives
and choice of means, which was the main reason for the Church's opposition
to it; the fact that it was a clandestine society bound by oath constituted only a
secondary reason. 39
(3) In contrast to all previous nationalist organisations in Ireland, the IRB
could claim support not only from the Irish at home but also from Irish
immigrants, particularly in the US and Britain. As has already been indicated,
the latter were integrated into the organisation at home, while the Irish
Americans not only provided the IRB with valuable political support but also
with considerable financial backing. Moreover, without this almost ceaseless
flow of American funds from about 1860, the agitation of virtually every other
nationalist group in Ireland would not have been possible either. No evidence
has come to light so far which would indicate that the IRB maintained links
with revolutionary movements in Europe. 40
(4) The IRB had an exceedingly long life, beginning in 1858 and lasting
until 1924. Although it lost importance after the 1867 rising and temporarily
almost ceased to exist as an organisation, it experienced a revival after the tum
of the century. The longevity of some of its founder members no doubt was
one of the reasons for its long existence. 41
Revolutionary Agrarian Societies included all those organisations and associations within the Irish national movement which sought to bring about
fundamental changes in Irish agrarian conditions by close co-operation and
collective action of tenant farmers. In this context, the term 'Revolutionary
Agrarian Society' is intended to be a broad one, since very diverse tenants'
leagues, in terms of their programmes, will be included under this heading.
Their scale ranged from societies pursuing moderate objectives of agrarian
reform- which might be increased, if circumstances were favourable- to
those aiming at a radical reconstruction ofland tenure in Ireland and, in order
to attain their objectives, employing methods, which, at least by the standards
of their time, were regarded as revolutionary. 42
The model for revolutionary, or potentially revolutionary, agrarian
societies, particularly in the last third of the nineteenth century, was provided
by British trade unions, whose practices in pressing for the workers sociopolitical demands were referred to time and again. What distinguished the
revolutionary agrarian societies from older secret ones, such as the
Whiteboys, was their open organisation and the obvious political emphasis of
their objectives. Yet this did not prevent them from forming links with secret
agrarian societies still existing, to make the latter's demands their own and, to
a certain extent, even to employ their methods in their connict with
landowners and the forces of the State. The organisational structure of the
revolutionary agrarian societies hardly differed from that of the associations
145
for political agitation existing at the same time. Like them, their structure was
centralised, hierarchical and clearly modelled on that of the Catholic Church.
This imitation of the Church's organisation, frequently noted by contemporary observers, not only suggested itself because it had proved its
efficacy in extremely difficult political circumstances, but also because the
nationally conscious lower clergy had played a leading role in virtually all
non-revolutionary associations ever since the agitation for Catholic emancipation in the first half of the nineteenth century. The revolutionary agrarian
societies were led by central bodies sitting, almost without exception, in
Dublin, with local branches being directly responsible to them. As in the
case of associations for political agitation, the boundaries and spheres of
activity of local branches as a rule coincided with the parish boundaries.
The best known, most influential and at the same time most radical example
of this type of Irish association was the Irish National Land League. Founded
in 1879, at the height of a severe agrarian crisis, it had spread rapidly in
Ireland's rural areas and had swallowed up the local tenants' societies, formed
at the same time or slightly earlier. 43 Its demands for an adjustment of rents to
the decrease in the price of agricultural produce, for a ban on landowners'
giving arbitrary notice to tenants and finally for converting rented land into
tenant's property, resulted in political and personal links with the Irish
Parliamentary Party which had been demanding Home Rule in the British
House of Commons since the late 1870s. For the first time in the history of the
Irish national movement between 1879 and 1882 revolutionary and constitutional nationalism united for joint' action. The Parliamentary Party made
itself the voice of Irish tenant farmers in the House of Commons, while the
Irish National Land League, with its tight and all-embracing organisation,
brought Ireland's political and social order to the brink of chaos. 44
Paramilitary Organisations, which did not have a national programme of their
own but merely appealed to the patriotism of the Irish people, were a
characteristic of the years immediately preceding the First World War, when
agitation for Home Rule gained new impetus by the introduction of a third
Home Rule Bill in the British parliament. In the past, too, the Irish national
movement had on occasion brought forth militarily organised and armed
volunteer groups. An early example were the Irish Volunteers between 1778
and 1782 who had originally been intended to replace Irish regiments sent to
fight in North America in the defence of Ireland against a potential French
invasion; 45 another early group was the already more strongly nationally
motivated Volunteer Corps of the United Irishmen in 1792/93. 46 At the tum of
the year 1844/45 O'Connell planned to set up a volunteer corps 'to smite all
who invade our land or liberties', 47 and in 1848 the national association of
Young Ire landers discussed the formation of a 'National Guard' modelled on
French lines. 48
146
Peter Alter
The new and characteristic feature of the years since 1912 has been the
militarisation of the great political groupings in Ireland. In an atmosphere of
increasing violence, brought about mainly by the prospect of imminent Home
Rule, the various national and anti-national groupings in Ireland set up their
own paramilitary organisations. It was characteristic that from the beginning
these militia-type forces were not conceived as clandestine commando units,
but as private armies, which appeared quite openly, wore uniforms, held
parades and actively recruited new members. These organisations very soon
exchanged their cudgels and their fake guns for small arms by engaging in
smuggling and raids.
This development had its origin in Ulster, where the Unionist opponents to
Home Rule resolved in January 1913 to resist the nationalists' demand for
Irish autonomy by every means at their disposal. The Ulster Unionist Council
decided on that occasion to establish a 100,000-strong volunteer army, the
Ulster Volunteer Force, and by the middle of the same year this plan had met
with unforeseen success. 49 Initially, the nationalists did not take the Ulster
Unionists' military efforts very seriously, but as the Ulster Volunteer Force
came ever closer to its target strength, ~ 0 nationalist groups outside Ulster
began preparations for the establishment of an analogous organisation. Thus
the Irish National Volunteers were set up in November 1913 and regarded
themselves expressly as a counterpoise to the Ulster Volunteers and as a
'national defence force'.~ 1 Their purpose was 'to secure and to maintain the
rights and liberties common to all the people of Ireland'. ~ 2 In the beginning,
the Irish National Volunteers were quite independent of the Irish Parliamentary Party and other nationalist organisations, although from the
outset numerous adherents of the Home Rule movement were among their
members. In the autumn of 1914, i.e. after the outbreak of the First World
War, the Irish Volunteers, who were closer to the more radical positions within
the national movement than the adherents of the National Volunteers, split ofT
from the latter. Behind the Irish Volunteers stood the IRB and this explains
their participation in the rebellion of 1916. 53 After 1916 the Irish Volunteers
were the 'army' of the Irish revolutionary government, and as such played a
leading role, as did the Irish Republican Army, which grew out of their ranks,
when the guerilla war against Britain was resumed with renewed force in
1919. ~ 4
Along with the Irish Volunteers the Irish Citizen Army took a prominent
part in the Easter Rising. 55 The latter had been formed in the autumn of 1913,
at the height of a serious labour conflict, in order to defend Dublin workers
against police excesses. Thus it was not originally a nationalist organisation,
although it subsequently supported the pronouncedly nationalist programme
of the Irish labour movement. Only the simultaneous existence of volunteer
corps both on the nationalist and the unionist side, as well as the delaying
tactics of Whitehall towards the tense situation in Ireland, prevented the
banning of all these organisations, which were not just an expression of the
147
148
Peter Alter
149
with the revolutionary struggle against British rule, which was to culminate in
rebellion and in the foundation of an independent Irish state, relegated issues
of social reform to second place. 69 It was the Irish National Land League,
which took up the agrarian secret societies actionism, perfected it in an
unprecedented manner and employed it in the furtherance of its socio-political
objectives. 70 In the 'land war' of 1879-81 it attempted, as the declared selfhelp and protection society of Ireland's rural population, to obtain a
fundamental change of the status quo in the agrarian sector. Although it, too,
resorted to methods of intimidation, terror and physical force - familiar since
the days of the Whiteboys- its most effective weapon was the boycott of
landowners, agents, 'collaborators', etc., organised by its local branches.
Boycott, i.e. the social and economic isolation of individuals or groups, as a
tactical weapon in a situation of political or social conflict, was certainly no
new discovery, even though the term was only coined at that time. 71 What was
new, however, was the degree to which the Irish National Land League
extended such boycott tactics to all spheres of life, and the consistency with
which it employed them. Related methods were the collective refusal to pay
rents, organised by the Land League, mass demonstrations against rents that
were felt to be excessive, prevention of the forcible eviction of tenants by joint
resistance of all neighbouring tenants and unilateral fixing of new rents by
Land League 'courts', setting aside the prevailing laws. 72 Beyond that, the
Land League organised demonstrations against evictions and mobilised the
local population against tenants willing to take over tenancies others had been
forced to leave. The Land League kept up this often violent agitation, as did its
successor, the Irish National League, although in a somewhat diluted form,
until the late 1880s; after that it dwindled away.
Not until the years immediately preceding the First World War did
militancy and violence, on another level, again become a feature of Irish
nationalism. Now it was the various paramilitary organisations, which took
over the role of secretly or openly planning and executing violent and illegal
acts. They also recruited their members publicly, wore uniforms, were partly
armed and held military exercises and parades under the guidance of officers
who had served in the British army. 73 As the militia arm of the various Irish
nationalist and unionist groupings, they represented a fastgrowing force with
which to intimidate and terrorise political adversaries. By 1913/14 their
marches dominated the street scene of both Dublin and Belfast.
But major acts of violence against each other, agaiD&t the police or the
regular army were not yet a feature of those years. However, the increasing
militarisation of the political conflict in Ireland created the climate for the
events of 1916- in which apart from the IRB and the organisations it had
infiltrated, both the workers' Irish Citizen Army and the Irish Volunteers
played a major role- as well as for those in the years leading up to
independence and the civil war that followed it. After the Easter Rising, the
Irish Volunteers in particular increasingly took on the character of an
Peter Alter
150
underground army conducting a guerilla war against the police, the British
army and administration in Ireland. 74 Finally, the Irish Republican Army
(IRA), which grew out of the Irish Volunteers in 1919, turned exclusively to
ruthless guerilla tactics against the institutions and organs of the State. 7 5 Its
terrorist methods, an extension and refinement of the instruments developed
by Irish revolutionary nationalists ever since the eighteenth century, were to
bring about by force in a short time what 120 years of apparently unsuccessful
agitation had failed to achieve- an independent Irish republic. Although it
did not realise this goal, 76 there is no question that revolutionary nationalism
and the violence it institutionalised in Ireland, played a considerable part in
the creation of the Irish Free State in 1921/22.
NOTES
l.
2.
3.
4.
S.
6.
7.
8.
9.
151
10. The best summary of this unrest is contained inK. B. Nowlan, 'Agrarian Unrest
in Ireland 1800-1845', University Review 4 (1967) and Broeker, Rural Disorder.
11. R. Kee, The Green Flag, A History of Irish Nationalism (London, 1972) p. 25 and
299.
12. E. R. Norman, The Catholic Church and Ireland in the Age of Rebellion, 18591873 (London, 1965); D. McCartney, 'The Church and the Fenians', University
Review 4 (1967) pp. 203-15; Williams (ed.), Secret Societies, pp. 9-10, pp. 6878; OBroin, Revolutionary Underground, pp. 71-3; D. Bowen, The Protestant
Crusade in Ireland, 1800-70: A Study of Protestant-Catholic Relations between
the Act of Union and Disestablishment (Dublin and Montreal, 1978) pp. 3-4; p. 9.
13. Precursor organisations to the Whiteboys can be traced back to 1711 (Kee, Green
Flag, p. 24). On the Whiteboys most recently: Donnelly, Whiteboy Movement.
14. E.g. 'Oakboys', 'Hearts of Steel', 'Steelboys', 'Levellers', 'Corkboys',
'Shanavests'.
15. It was under these headings that the authorities described particularly the
offences against the property of landowners and acts of violence against
individuals. Their increase or decrease was taken to be an indicator of social and
political unrest in the country. Cf. J. V. O'Brien, William O'Brien and the Course
of Irish Politics, 1881-1918 (Berkeley, 1976) pp. 249-52.; J. S. Donnelly, Jr., The
Land and the People of Nineteenth-Century Cork: The Rural Economy and the
Land Question (London and Boston, 1975) p. 282, p. 295; P. Bew, Land and
the National Question in Ireland 1858-82 (Dublin, 1978) pp. 34-8, 206.
16. Donnelly, 'Whiteboy Movement', pp. 21-3.
17. Kee, Green Flag, p. 299.
18. Cf. ibid., p. 25. In nineteenth-century Ireland 'Ribbonism' became a synonym for
agrarian disorders, behind which stood the secret societies.
19. E.g.: 'Rockites', 'Terry Alts', 'Molly Maguires', 'Threshers', 'Whitefeet',
'Blackfeet', 'Lady Clares', 'Carders', 'Caravats'.
20. On the rites of the 'classical secret society' cf. Hobsbawm, Primitive Rebels,
pp. 165-7.
21. Kee, Green Flag, p. 299; E. D. Steele, Irish Land and British Politics: Tenant-Right
and Nationality 1865-1870 (Cambridge, 1974) pp. 3--4.
22.
isolated farms at night or on estates before the general expiration of leases or,
most commonly of all perhaps, after Sunday mass, when all in the parish were
collected and particularly vulnerable to demands to constitute a common front.'
(0. MacDonagh, Ireland: The Union and its Aftermath, 2nd. ed. (London, 1977)
pp. 144-5).
23. One version of the White boys' oath of 1762 is reprinted in Donnelly, 'White boy
Movement', p. 27: 'I do hereby solemnly and sincerely swear that I will not
make known any secret now given me, or hereafter may be given, to anyone
in the world, except a sworn person belonging to the society called
Whiteboys ... Furthermore, I swear that I will be ready at an hour's warning, if
possible, by being properly summoned by any of the officers, sergeants, and
corporals belonging to my company. Furthermore, I swear that I will not wrong
any of the company I belong to, to the value of one shilling, nor suffer it to be done
by others, without acquainting them thereof. Furthermore, I swear that I will not
make known, in any shape whatsoever, to any person that does not belong to us,
the name or names of any of our fraternity, but particularly the names of our
respective officers. Lastly, I swear that I will not drink of any liquor whatsoever
whilst on duty, without the consent of any one or other of the officers, sergeants,
or corporals; and that we will be loyal one to another as in our power lies.'
24. See below pp. 144-5.
152
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
Peter Alter
Hobsbawm has coined the term 'social bandit' in order to distinguish the agrarian
bandit from the common criminal, and also to indicate his function as a 'social
avenger' (Hobsbawm, Primitive Rebels, pp. 13-29; id., 'Social Banditry' in
H. A. Landsberger (ed.), Rural Protest: Peasant Movements and Social Change
(London, 1974) pp. 142-57.
Hobsbawm, Primitive Rebels, pp. 110 and 123.
K. B. Nowlan in Williams (ed.), Secret Societies, p. 188.
R. Jacob, The Rise of the United Irishmen, 1791-1794 (London, 1937); Williams
(ed.), Secret Societies, pp. 58-67.
Moody (ed.), Fenian Movement; 0 Broin, Revolutionary Underground; D. Ryan,
The Phoenix Flame: A Study of Fenianism and John Devoy (London, 1937); id.,
The Fenian Chief A Biography ofJames Stephens (Dublin, 1967); H. Senior, 'The
Place of Fenianism in the Irish Republican Tradition', University Review 4 (1967)
pp. 250-9.
W. D'Arcy, The Fenian Movement in the United States, 1858-1886 (Washington,
1947); B. Jenkins, Fenians and Anglo-American Relations during Reconstruction
(lthaka and London, 1969).
'Fenians' was the name of an army in celtic mythology famous for its bravery
(Kee, Green Flag, p. 310). Originally the IRB had no fixed name. It was called
'The Society', 'The Organisation', 'Our Movement', or 'The Brotherhood', the
latter often with the adjective 'revolutionary' or 'republican'. Only after its
reorganisation in 1873 did 'Irish Republican Brotherhood' become the official
designation (cf. Lyons, Ireland, pp. 125-6; P. S. O'Hegarty, A History of
Ireland under the Union 1801 to 1922 (London, 1952) pp. 414-15).
The 1859 version: 'I, (name), in the presence of Almighty God, do solemnly swear
allegiance to the Irish republic, now virtually established, and that I will do my
utmost, at every risk, while life lasts, to defend its independence and integrity, and
finally, that I will yield implicit obedience in all things, not contrary to the laws of
God, to the commands of my superior officers. So help me God! Amen.'
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
59.
60.
61.
62.
153
Peter Alter
154
63.
64.
65.
66.
67.
68.
69.
70.
71.
72.
73.
74.
75.
76.
challenged the central role of the IRB/IRA. Agrarian unrest, often leading to
violence and intimidation, was endemic until the 1930s but it was on a small
scale compared with the land wars of the nineteenth century. Left-wing groups
prepared to use force have appeared from time to time but, most notably in
1916 and in the early 1930s, were subsumed into the nationalist movement,
while with the exception of the great Dublin lock-out of 1913/14 industrial
unrest has tended to be non-violent. In contrast, ever since its formation in
1858 the Irish Republican Brotherhood has planned or waged war on the
British presence in Ireland.
This consistency of aim has been matched by flexibility of means. The forms
which IRB/IRA violence have taken in this century have varied from a setpiece rebellion in 1916, through widespread guerrilla warfare in 1920/21, civil
war in 1922/23, a bombing campaign in England in 1939/40, attacks on British
forces in Ulster in the 1950s and a terror campaign in the 1970s, to isolated
outbursts of intimidation and assassination. Despite its 120-year-old suspicion of politics and politicians the IRB/IRA has occasionally co-operated
155
156
Michael Laffan
uneasily with constitutional movements, though it has only been happy when
playing a dominant role.
Since the 1790s when French revolutionary ideas inspired Irish radicals,
Irish rebel and terrorist movements have been concerned almost singlemindedly with ending British rule in Ireland. From then until the withdrawal
of British forces from most bf the island in 1922 their objective was a simple
one, however frequently other issues such as the struggle for the land might
become enmeshed in the national, political question, sometimes sharpening
and strengthening it, sometimes blunting and deflecting it. As will be argued
below, with the establishment of the Irish Free State in 1922 and the relegation
of those nationalists still living under British rule to the role of a beleaguered
minority, the IRA's targets became more diffused.
Wolfe Tone, the father of Irish nationalism in the 1790s, denounced the
connection with England as 'the never-ending source of all our political evils',
and over a hundred years later one of his disciples declared that 'it is not bad
government that ails Ireland, it is foreign government, and till foreign
government is ended Ireland cannot prosper'. 1 In the intervening century
most Irishmen showed a remarkable consistency in their distaste for the
British connection and the Act of Union of 1800, associating them, sometimes
fairly, with British exploitation and duplicity. In the course of the nineteenth
century the removal of other grievances, economic, social and religious,
merely focussed attention on the fact that most Irishmen felt different from
Englishmen and wanted to have a much louder voice in running their own
affairs. Ireland developed a tradition of discontent, although as far as the
great majority was concerned this was far from being a tradition of
insurrection.
The proclamation of the Irish Republic in Easter Week 1916 referred to the
Irish people having risen 'six times during the past three hundred years'. The
first two such risings, in 1641 and 1690, could be fitted into such a pattern only
with considerable difficulty, the third, in 1798, was a major catastrophe in
which as many as 30,000 may have perished, while the remaining three, in
1803, 1848 and 1867 were botched, pathetic farces.
In the long run, for those who demanded Ireland's separation from Britain,
this record of failure was unimportant. 2 What mattered to them was that
subjection to British rule was not accepted passively, that there was a tradition
of resistance, and that they themselves should carry on the tradition. The dead
hand of the past pointed out to the living what their task must be. In the
peroration of the most famous of his speeches Pearse, twentieth-century
Ireland's leading exponent of the nationalist tradition, proclaimed that 'life
springs from death; and from the graves of patriot men and women spring
living nations.... they have left us our Fenian dead, and while Ireland holds
these graves Ireland unfree shall never be at peace'. 3 Soon afterwards he was
to argue 'that the national demand of Ireland is fixed and determined; that
157
that demand has been made by every generation; that we of this generation
receive it as a trust from our fathers; that we are bound by it; that we have not
the right to alter it or to abate it by one jot or tittle'. 4 Two years later de Valera
told his followers 'Sinn Fein wished to keep the people true to the ideals
sanctified by the blood of twenty-five generations - ideals which the mass of
the Irish people at no time really compromised'. 5
Historically this was utter rubbish, politically it was a powerful myth which
legitimised and ennobled the activities of the IRA and its political
counterpart, Sinn Fein. Most of the country was prepared to follow the
moderate Irish Parliamentary Party and seek its limited goals, and until after
1916 views such as those expounded by Pearse and de Valera were held only by
a small minority- but they were held passionately and fiercely. To this
minority compromise was anathema, politics and Irish politicians were
suspect, and they believed firmly that the British government, always
treacherous in its dealings with Ireland, would yield only to force. These men
plotted, talked or dynamited, or else waited for the time when they or their
successors in the next generation could strike again. From 1858 onwards most
of them were members of the secret Irish Republican Brotherhood which
sought a fully independent Irish republic and regarded force as the only means
of bringing this about.
By the early years of this century the IRB had fallen on hard times. The most
recent rebellion receded further into the past, the organisation was infiltrated
by government spies, numbers and morale were falling, and the Land Acts
were bringing about a social revolution in Ireland while the political
revolution remained as far away as ever; in fact the removal of so many
material grievances- the policy of 'killing Home Rule with kindness'seemed likely to blunt the demand for separation and independence. There
was no sign that the Irish people were prepared to follow radical leaders using
radical means. The situation worsened after 1910 when the Liberal
government, dependent on Irish votes in the House of Commons, committed
itself to the prompt introduction of Home Rule. For many IRB men this lack
of widespread support, this clear absence of a pre-revolutionary situation,
were reasons enough for postponing indefinitely any new rising; all the more
when one clause of the 1873 IRB constitution declared that the organisation
should 'await the decision of the Irish Nation, as expressed by a majority of
the Irish people, as to the fit hour of inaugurating war against England'. This
was an extraordinary self-denying ordinance fgr a revolutionary body, and it
reflected awareness that lack of public support had helped doom earlier
insurrections.
One example of the condition to which the IRB had sunk was the P. T. Daly
affair. In 1908 Daly, the secretary of the supreme council, on being given 600
for IRB purposes by the Irish-American organisation Clan na Gael, pocketed
half the money for himself and his family. He was eventually found out, but
158
Michael Laffan
instead of being executed he was allowed to keep the money and was merely
dismissed from the council. 6 There were extenuating circumstances, but such
gentleness boded ill for the Irish revolution.
About this time, however, the IRB's fortunes began to revive. The key
figures in this development were Tom Clarke, a middle-aged veteran of the
dynamite campaign of the 1880s and of a subsequent 15-year penal sentence,
and two young Ulstermen, Bulmer Hobson and Denis McCullough. They
began purging the hive 6f drones, and the story has it that McCullough even
forced out his own father. Soon the IRB was better placed to avail of
improving circumstances, and by 1912 its numbers had increased to over
1500. 7
The opportunity for action came from an unlikely source. The Ulster
unionists, who dreaded the prospect of subjection to a Catholic-dominated
Home Rule parliament in Dublin and were unreconciled by the limited powers
such a parliament would enjoy, formed their own private army, the Ulster
Volunteers, and threatened to rebel against the Crown so that they might
remain the Crown's most loyal subjects. Their leader Sir Edward Carson
declared 'we will shortly challenge the Government to interfere with us if they
dare, and we will with equanimity await the result ... They may tell us if they
like that that is treason. It is not for men who have such stakes as we have to
trouble about the cost.' 8 His claim that the government would not dare to
interfere with what was illegal was vindicated; it temporised and compromised.
This action by their deadly enemies appealed to the imagination of many
Irish nationalists both inside and outside the ranks of the IRB, it made
physical force once more respectable, made it seem daring, heroic and
successful. Carson brought guns back into Irish life, and the IRB was
determined that some of the guns should be in its hands. At the IRB's
instigation a rival Irish National Volunteer force was formed in November
1913, and Carson's example was also followed by the Dublin Transport
Workers' Union which established its own defensive organisation, the Irish
Citizen Army. Within a short time the Irish Volunteers' numbers had risen to
about 180,000, and small quantities of arms were provided for them. But
despite the IRB's infiltration of the Volunteers' higher ranks the force's
unrevolutionary temperament was revealed when it split in two in 1914 and
170,000 of its men followed Redmond and the constitutional leadership, only
10,000 remaining loyal to those (including the IRB men) who had founded the
movement.
The formation of a private army under IRB influence was followed closely
by the outbreak of war in Europe, and this provided a further incentive to
action. A key group within the IRB, in close collaboration with like-minded
men outside the organisation but excluding IRB members who adhered to the
constraints of the 1873 constitution, decided that as in the past 'England's
difficulty was Ireland's opportunity' and that a rebellion must be staged while
159
Britain was distracted by war with Germany. 9 The patience of those who had
waited years, even decades, for the right moment to strike was to be rewarded
at last. The awkward facts that in economic terms Ireland did well out of the
war, and that spreading disillusionment with the Irish Parliamentary Party
was not transformed into support for a rising, did nothing to deter men like
Pearse and Clarke who felt that they, rather than the majority of the
population, recognised and represented the national will.
Although they prepared the rising carefully and secretly and were naturally
anxious to maximise its chances of success, the rebels did not regard success as
essential. When at a late stage their plans miscarried, an arms shipment from
Germany was intercepted, Volunteer leaders outside the plot learned of it and
tried to stop the insurrection, and it became clear that the British authorities
were on their guard, they went ahead even though they knew that, in James
Connolly's words 'we are going out to be slaughtered'. For most of them their
determination that a rebellion should take place, that their generation should
not betray the tradition of the 'protest in arms', was the most important
consideration. Pearse, the rebel commander-in-chief, courted martyrdom.
Only about 1,500 Irish Volunteers fought for the newly-proclaimed Irish
Republic, and apart from a few incidents in the countryside the rising was
confined to Dublin. 450 people were killed and 2,500 wounded. Initially it was
rejected with horror by the great mass of the Irish population, a common
reaction being 'the British will never grant Home Rule now!' When the rebels
surrendered and were marched off under arrest Dublin housewives rushed
into the streets with food and drink, not for the prisoners, but for their guards.
Gradually opinion changed. Realisation that the rebels had fought bravely
and honourably and that the rising had not been an ignominous fiasco like its
predecessors inspired pride as well as condemnation. Even John Dillon, the
deputy leader of the Irish Parliamentary Party who had been dismayed by the
insurrection, taunted British members of the House of Commons that 'it
would have been a damned good thing for you if your soldiers were able to put
up as good a fight as did these men in Dublin'. 10 As the leaders of the rising
had intended, the Irish people were jolted out of their complacency and were
forced to re-examine tactics- violence and rebellion- which they had come to
associate with unhappy phases of the past.
Even more than the fighting itself, the government's response swung public
opinion behind the rebels and helped redeem the tarnished image of violence.
Over three thousand people were arrested, many of them having little or no
sympathy with the insurrection. Sixteen men were executed, a few at a time,
over a period of ten days. The result was instant canonisation. While the
executions were still taking place George Bernard Shaw argued that the
British government had ensured that each of the rebel leaders would be
regarded as a martyr 'even though the day before the rising he may have been
only a minor poet. The shot Irishmen will now take their place beside Emmet
and the Manchester martyrs in Ireland, and beside the heros [sic] of Poland
160
Michael Laffan
and Serbia and Belgium in Europe; and nothing in heaven or on earth can
prevent it'.U Nothing did prevent it. A month later T. P. O'Connor of the
Irish Parliamentary Party wrote to Lloyd George telling him that a little girl
bad been heard in the street praying to 'St Pearse'. 12
The Easter rising was itself partly the result of a myth, of a distorted image
oflreland forever renewing the struggle against British oppression. Its leaders
soon became mythological figures themselves, their images sacrosanct and
inviolable. Their cult still thrives. Within a short time not only the young but
also the staid and the cautious began to gloss over their initial opposition to
the rising and to give it their retrospective support, even veneration.
This development is one of the most important in modem Irish history. A
small group of men, deciding that they represented the national interest and
the national will, struck against the system supported, or at least accepted, by
the overwhelming majority of the people. After their deaths their aims and
methods won widespread approval. This posthumous success inspired others
to emulate their achievement, and it has been the model for all subsequent
Irishmen committed to the use of violence. Today the Provisional IRA likes to
see itself as following the example given by Clarke and Pearse, confident that
public opinion will support it eventually, however belatedly. Another
objective of later rebels and terrorists, also modelled on the pattern of 1916
and also successful at times, was to force the government of the day into such
repressive measures that the repression would seem, and would be, an even
greater evil than the initial provocation; the public's resentment would shift
from the IRA to the government. Their traditional dislike of alien rule had led
the Irish people to sympathise with those who defied authority and the IRA
could benefit from the national tendency to be 'agin' the government'.
However successful the rising had been in transforming Irish opinion, in
military terms it was a failure and for the rest of the Great War it was clear that
another rebellion was impossible. It was also unnecessary. From a military
standpoint the best way to pursue the struggle begun in 1916 would be to
consolidate and build on the newly won public sympathy so that when the
time came for the next round Ireland would experience a genuine national
uprising. One immediate problem was that the obvious means for doing this
were repugnant to many of the rebels. When Sinn Feiners in Ireland decided to
contest by-elections as a way of building up an organisation and arousing
support and enthusiasm, the surviving imprisoned Volunteer leaders were
hostile. They bad long regarded politics as a demeaning activity and,
accustomed to disparaging their own generation, they were not prepared to
put their trust in the electorate's change of heart. De Valera complained that
'we are not willing that what has been purchased with our comrades' blood
should be lost on a toss throw with dice loaded against us', 13 and when one of
the prisoners was run - successfully - against the Irish Party candidate, be
and virtually all his colleagues raised strong objections. 14 Their supporters
back home were not deterred, and they won a series of spectacular election
161
victories. Their success disarmed the purists, even though many continued to
regard politics with suspicion and to feel it was no more than a tactical
expedient, a second-best to fighting. Nonetheless the Volunteers proved
remarkably successful politicians, a mass Sinn Fein party was built up in 1917,
and in the 1918 general election it eliminated the Irish Party. Redmond's
successors could win only two seats in the whole country against Sinn Fein.
De Valera and other Volunteers were elected to the highest posts in the
party, and de Valera soon showed himself temperamentally more of a
politician than a soldier. The effective takeover of the political leadership by
the fighting men was a return to an old Irish pattern in which violence and
political activity often interacted on each other. On the whole the political and
the military wings of the movement co-operated harmoniously, although the
soldiers' contempt for mere politicians was matched by some Sinn Feiners'
alarm at the Volunteers' bellicosity. Dan Breen, one of the most active
guerrillas in the Anglo-Irish war, remarked that in his district the first military
display was an even bigger shock to the Sinn Feiners than it was to the
British. 15
The political phase which lasted throughout 1917 and 1918 overlapped with
a steady revival of the Irish Volunteers (soon more widely known as the Irish
Republican Army, or the IRA) and also, though on a small scale, ofthe IRB.
In the eyes of most of the Volunteers the establishment of a large-scale force
committed to rebellion made a secret society like the IRB redundant, and
many were influenced by the Catholic Church's hostility towards secret
societies. Nonetheless the IRB survived, its head still nominally president of
the Irish Republic (a title later to be enjoyed by de Valera after his election as
president of the Dail, the Irish parliament established by Sinn Fein MPs in
January 1919). 16 After the Easter rising the IRB played a relatively minor role
and was significant mainly because Michael Collins, its guiding force,
controlled so much else as well. 1 7 From 1919 onwards the active units of the
IRA, a small minority of the total, occupied a position comparable to that
held for so long by the IRB and shared many of its claims and attitudes.
The Anglo-Irish war of 1919-21 was basically a guerrilla campaign in
which the use of terror played an important part in removing dangerous
enemies, weakening British morale and deternng civilians from helping the
government forces. Unlike the Easter rising it was a modem war, dirty and
ungentlemanly. Policemen were shot in Dublin streets and in country lanes.
Most of the IRA's victims were, like their killers, Irish Catholics (the police
suffered far more heavily than the army; in the two and a half years of fighting
the losses were respectively 405 and 150). 18 Many were well-known and
popular in their neighbourhoods, and initially the normal response to what
were seen as brutal and cowardly murders was revulsion and condemnation.
Sinn Feiners felt that a few gunmen in Dublin and Tipperary were blackening
the movement's good name. As Breen complained - oversimplifying and
distorting the results of the 1918 elections- 'the people had voted for a
162
Michael Laffan
Republic, but now they seemed to have abandoned us who had tried to bring
that Republic nearer, and who had taken them at their word'. 19 (He included
many of the IRA in this denunciation, and as fighting spread and British
pressure increased most volunteers lay low and only a small fraction took part
in military operations.) Collins shared Breen's frustration and urged that 'the
sooner fighting was forced and a general state of disorder created, the
better'. 20
The war began on a small scale and escalated slowly; in the first eighteen
months, from January 1919 to June 1920, only sixty members of the crown
forces were killed. Gradually the IRA's scale of activities was extended. In
November 1920 Collins's 'squad' killed twelve officers in Dublin, most of
them engaged in intelligence work, while sixteen policemen were killed in a
battle in Co. Cork. Over a hundred IRA men were captured after the
destruction of the Dublin Custom House, the centre of local government, in
May 1921. Isolated killings continued, sometimes representing the settling of
private grievances rather than attacks on 'enemies of the Republic'. Assassination was not a policy characteristic of the IRA, although there were
exceptions: Cathal Brugha, later minister of defence, is reported to have
planned to shoot down the British cabinet if conscription were imposed on
Ireland in 1918; the viceroy narrowly escaped death in an ambush in
December 1919; and in 1922, long after the formal ending of hostilities, two
IRA men killed Sir Henry Wilson in London, probably acting on Collins's
orders.
The IRA was delighted by the government's response to its attacks, a
response criticised by The Times as 'collective punishment'. 21 When policemen and soldiers were ambushed the whole neighbourhood was often
proclaimed a military district, fairs and markets were banned, curfews
imposed, and the innocent were punished with the guilty. In retaliation for the
killing of a policeman Limerick was subjected to military rule and to the
imposition of permits needed for entering and leaving the city. The failure of a
general strike in protest against these measures in no way diminished local
resentment. There was little to choose between the terror imposed by the IRA
and that imposed by the crown forces (the latter often in the form of 'official
reprisals'), but the IRA had the double advantage of being the under-dogs and
of being 'our lads'. Among many Irishmen, though certainly not all, the IRA
acquired a romantic image which was enhanced by the panache and courage
often shown in incidents such as prison escapes and arms raids. In late 1919
the police inspector general lamented that 'the general public is apparently
prepared to suffer rather than condemn the criminal acts of the rebel
fanatics'. 22
Long before the end of the war Irish public opinion had been radicalised yet
again. After 1916 the government's clumsy response to the rising encouraged
widespread support for the rebels' aims and a sympathy with the idea or the
memory of violence. The reality of violence, when it returned in less romantic
163
circumstances in 1919, shocked people initially, but once again the authorities'
blind and indiscriminate reaction (summarised by the viceroy's remark after
one police inspector had been shot in Tipperary, that the government was
convinced 'Sinn Feiners in this district are an organised club for murder') 23
closed the nationalist ranks behind the IRA. By and large people supported
the IRA, or at least did not support the government, and fallen volunteers
such as Kevin Barry were promptly incorporated into the republican
mythology and became the heroes of ballads. In some cases, as Ernie O'Malley
relates of himself, the fighting men could go to dances and hear songs being
sung about their own exploits. 24 Between them, the IRA and the British
government succeeded in identifying the IRA with nationalism and
patriotism.
The authorities went to extreme lengths in polarising Irish opinion between
the British army and the IRA. Late in 1919 the Dai/, the Sinn Fein party and
other political bodies were banned. They continued to function underground,
and particularly in 1920 succeeded in playing a significant political and
administrative role in the conflict, but unable to act with their earlier
effectiveness they could not rival the power and appeal of the IRA.
In its first issue an t-Oglach, the volunteers' journal declared
the Irish Volunteers are a military body pure and simple. They arethe army
of the Irish Republic, the agents ofthe National will ... volunteers are not
politicians ... Let us accept the words of a great Prussian - adapted by
Ruskin- 'I desire for my own country to secure that her soldiers should be
her tutors, and the captains of her armies captains also of her mind'- as our
motto'. 25
While few IRA men could have quoted Ruskin, most would have shared the
view that the soldiers were the elite of the nation, that they embodied the
national will.
Despite the important role played by the Sinn Fein politicians and
administrators, ultimately it was the IRA, the flying columns in the South and
Collins's squad in Dublin, which undermined British determination and drove
Lloyd George's government to the truce of July 1921 and the lengthy
negotiations which followed.
The signing of a compromise treaty in December 1921 created new
problems for the IRA. Until then its task had been uncomplicated- the
achievement of an independent republican Ireland - and the means were the
defeat of the British government and its agents. Even though the treaty
conceded merely a Free State with a governor general representing the crown
instead of an Irish Republic, and even though it left the island partitioned, it
was good enough for the great majority of Irishmen who wanted nothing more
than peace. The Church, the middle classes and the press were solidly in its
favour. However most of the active units of the IRA were opposed to the
164
Michael Laffan
treaty, as was a large minority of the political leadership (three out of seven
members of the Dail cabinet, including de Valera, and 57 out of 121 in the
Dai/). The IRB command, probably through Collins's influence, threw its
weight behind the settlement, although most of the rank and file were opposed
to it.
Those who had been reared in the Fenian tradition, who had been 'out' in
1916 or else wished they had been, who had seen the change in public opinion
after the rising, who had seen the people rally around those 'gunmen' who had
been denounced at the beginning of the Anglo-Irish war, who had seen these
gunmen extract concessions from the British which mere politicians could
never have won, and who were yet dissatisfied with these concessions, could
not be expected to accept a cabinet majority of one in favour of the treaty or a
Dail majority of seven. Later, in June 1922, popular endorsement in a general
election also left them unmoved. Rejecting compromise they continued to
demand a republic free of any formal connection with Britain, and majority
disapproval deterred them no more than had similar opposition deterred
Clarke and Pearse in 1916 or Collins and Breen in 1919. 26
The section of the IRA which rejected the treaty now reverted to its normal
role, that of a minority prepared to resort to arms to impose its vision of
Ireland on the short-sighted majority. De Valera had told the Dail during the
treaty debates 'whenever I wanted to know what the Irish people wanted, I
had only to examine my own heart and it told me straight off what the Irish
people wanted",2 7 and many IRA men throughout the country had a similar
faith in the messages of their own hearts.
Collins, the most dangerous of all the 'gunmen', emerged as the chairman of
the provisional government which began taking over power from the British
in January 1922. Despite all his attempts to control the country it gradually
slid towards anarchy, with rival groups of soldiers seizing barracks, munitions
and strategic points. De Valera's verbal sniping did not help. In March 1922,
for instance, he warned the new Irish government that the volunteers of the
future might 'have to wade through Irish blood, through the blood of the
soldiers of the Irish Government and through, perhaps, the blood of some of
the members of the Government in order to get Irish freedom'. 28 But by now
de Valera was effectively a civilian and in 1922 it was the soldiers who made the
running. Their old distaste for politicians was illustrated by a remark made by
one of the leaders of the anti-treaty garrison which seized the Four Courts in
Dublin; when asked if he intended setting up a military dictatorship he replied
nonchalantly 'you can take it that way if you like'.
Full-scale fighting broke out in June, and with 1916 still in mind the antitreaty rebels holed themselves up in buildings in Dublin and waited until they
were blasted out. But this time, although a considerable minority of Irishmen
opposed the treaty with passion there was no swing of public opinion in their
favour. Soon the anti-treaty IRA was forced to retreat to the hills where it
waged a guerrilla war. In the course of the fighting Collins was killed in an
ambush.
165
166
Michael Laffan
some of its members tried to provoke a confrontation between the British and
the Irish governments by attacking British sailors from the naval base on
Spike Island - but these reflected frustration in the aftermath of defeat, not
the beginning of a new campaign.
Relations between the IRA and the republican 'government' headed by de
Valera worsened gradually. The anti-treaty politicians wanted power, but
their policy of abstention from the Dail doomed them to impotence. The IRA
purists became suspicious that the Sinn Feiners might compromise their
principles; in 1925 an army convention accused the republican government of
developing into a mere political party and it set up an independent executive
which was 'given the power to declare war'. 34 Aiken, the chief of staff who
doubled as 'minister of defence', was distrusted as being too close to de Valera
and was deposed.
In the course of the next two years de Valera and his more pragmatic
colleagues left Sinn Fein, formed their own Fianna Fail party, entered the Dail
and became the official opposition, while the rump Sinn Fein went into a
prompt decline and became no more than an adjunct of the IRA. De Valera
and his followers were denounced as compromisers and traitors who had
succumbed to the fatal lure of politics.
The 1920s witnessed a small but steady series of violent incidents. The IRA
carried out arms raids, attacked and sometimes killed policemen who
investigated them too closely, and later began intimidating prison warders,
court witnesses and jurors. To a large extent these were spontaneous and
uncoordinated measures and were often defensive in intent, designed to
prevent the movement being destroyed by the Free State authorities. The IRA
was not waging a campaign to bring down the Cumann na nGaedheal
government or the political system, much though it hated both. Even the
assassination in July 1927 of Kevin O'Higgins, the strong man of the Irish
cabinet, was probably the work of IRA men acting on their own initiative and
not on the orders of the army command.
In the early 1930s the tempo of IRA attacks increased dramatically, illegal
drillings, arms raids and assaults (several fatal) on the police became more
common. The government was forced to adopt harsh measures; the IRA and
many allied organisations were banned, their members were rounded up in
larger numbers and special military tribunals were established to try cases of
politically motivated violence. This response to increased IRA provocation
made the government look awkward and ridiculous as well as repressive and
probably contributed to its defeat by Fianna Fail in the 1932 elections. 35 In a
way this could be seen as another success for the policy of goading the
authorities into unpopular, self-destructive actions, but there were many
other causes of their defeat. The impact of the Depression, Cumann na
nGaedhea/'s bungled and negative campaign, Fianna Fail's superior organisation and the simple desjre for a change all played a part.
The 1932 elections and the peaceful transfer of power to those who had been
167
defeated in the civil war less than ten years earlier were decisive events in the
consolidation of Irish democracy. They were also significant in the history of
the IRA.
Most IRA men regarded de Valera as a renegade, but at least he had
recently been a fellow-rebel against the treatyite government and he still
shared their rhetoric and many of their views. As soon as Fianna Fail was
installed in office Aiken, now the real minister for defence, went to negotiate
with the imprisoned IRA leaders whose chief of staff he had been until 1925,
and he released them the next day. The ban on the IRA was lifted, the military
tribunals were suspended and police surveillance was eased. De Valera
intensified the previous government's policy of whittling away at the
restrictions imposed on Irish sovereignty by the treaty, and one by one he
removed its more obnoxious clauses. But he made it clear that he was going to
move cautiously and peacefully, and he no longer talked about 'the Republic'
which remained, along with reunification, the IRA's main objective.
IRA members were in a dilemma. De Valera was achieving many of their
aims by peaceful means, and while they could and did reject his argument that
with Fianna Fail in power they were no longer necessary, they realised there
was no point in fighting another round against so sympathetic a government.
Under the circumstances it is not surprising that the IRA was tempted to settle
old scores, and applying the principle of'no free speech for traitors' some of its
members turned on the now powerless Cumann na nGaedheal party, attacking
its leaders and disrupting its meetings. Feeling that the new administration
was working hand-in-glove with a terrorist organisation, some Cumann na
nGaedheal supporters fornied a fascist-style Blueshirt movement which played
a colourful if transient and ultimately unimportant role in Irish affairs in 1933
and 1934. Its main significance was as a catalyst in the relations between de
Valera's government and the IRA.
By 1933 de Valera, the poacher turned gamekeeper, was securely in power.
In his new position he resented his former colleagues' lawlessness but he found
it difficult to tum on them; after all, he had deserted them, not they him, and
they still held many objectives in common. In its rejection of majority rule and
democratic procedure the IRA was firmly in the 1916-19 tradition, and de
Valera's support of the anti-treaty forces in 1922 showed that he shared the
IRA's view that violence was justifiable against an Irish as well as against a
British administration. In a Dail speech some years earlier he had made
remarks which were to be used against him for decades to come:
we are all morally handicapped because of the circumstances in which the
whole thing came about. The setting up of this State put a moral handicap
on every one of us here ... Those who continued on in that organization
which we have left can claim exactly the same continuity that we claimed up
to 1925. 36
168
Michael Laffan
The IRA may have been a small minority but it was the direct successor of that
other small minority whose resort to violence had established the state.
Democratic politicians democratically elected occupied their positions because in 1921 the British had yielded to force when earlier they would not yield
to reason.
While de Valera was understandably reluctant to suppress the IRA he was
able to move freely against the B/ueshirts, and did so. This simplified his
problem. Once he had asserted the government's authority against one of the
country's two private armies it was easier for him to tum on the other, which
had all along been a far more powerful threat to stability and democracy.
Gradually the basic incompatibility between de Valera's methods and those of
the IRA became clearer, especially when some IRA elements began flirting
with socially radical ideas, involving themselves in land disputes and in
attempts to stop government strike-breaking. Once again policemen who
harried the IRA were killed, and the crisis came when the IRA alienated itself
decisively from public opinion by acts of stupid brutality. In March 1936 in
County Cork the retired Admiral Somerville, who had acted as referee for
local men wanting to join the Royal Navy, was shot dead on his own doorstep
by an IRA group which had taken literally authorisation by the local
command to 'get him'. Not long afterwards a 'traitor' was killed. The
government's much-criticised indulgence of the IRA came to an end, and
within a short time it was banned and its leaders arrested. Police pressure
increased as its sympathisers in the cabinet lost their patience, and by the end
of the decade the IRA's situation was no better than it had been under the
Cumann na nGaedheal government before 1932. De Valera was now seen as
another British collaborator, even more dangerous than his predecessors in
office.
Some IRA men felt that as long as the Republic or a United Ireland
remained distant goals the organisation should concern itself with economic
and social problems and that only in this way could they acquire a mass
following. (A mass following, of course, was viewed by the leadership with
grave suspicion; in that direction lay the danger of becoming yet another
political party.) Throughout the 1920s and 1930s the more radical members of
the IRA, in particular Peadar O'Donnell, tried to move the organisation to the
left. In 1927 he launched a campaign in Donegal against paying the annuities
due to Britain under the Land Acts, and in 1931 he won the support of the IRA
army council for Saor Eire, a new radical movement which would combine
republicanism and socialism, overthrow capitalism and solve unemployment.
Nothing came of this- the Church and the government attacked the new
body, and de Valera's assumption of power a year later shifted people's minds
back to 'the national question'. In 1934 the IRA radicals made another
attempt to form a left-wing political party, the Republican Congress, but the
army council opposed the move bitterly and warned that 'this Party will, in
169
course of time, contest elections and enter the Free State Parliament'. 37 The
Republican Congress soon followed Saor Eire into oblivion. As had been the
case with the mass Sinn Fein party in 1917, and even with the Irish
Parliamentary Party before it, divisive issues which would distract from a
single-minded concentration on nationalist objectives were suspected and
condemned. First and foremost the IRA remained an organisation dedicated
to resuming, some day, the struggle with Britain.
By 1937 the Irish political system had been consolidated and opponents as
well as supporters of the treaty were quite content to work within the
framework established in 1922. The Free State had been officially ended and
the treaty had been so dismantled that only the formal acknowledgement of
the 'republic' was missing; this step (delayed until 1949) lost much of its
importance once the crown had been removed from the constitution.
Attacking the Southern state no longer seemed worthwhile and from the late
1930s onwards the IRA began to concentrate on the continuing British
presence in Northern Ireland.
All Irish nationalists, North and South, regarded partition as the latest
example of British cunning, and the border itself as a blatant gerrymander.
Few Irishmen could understand why Britain was so appalled by the prospect
of a united Ireland containing a Protestant minority of 26 per cent and so
satisfied with an artificial Northern Ireland containing a Catholic minority of
33.5 per cent. A justifiable sense of grievance at how Ireland had been
partitioned between 1920 and 1925 helped lure many young men into the
IRA's ranks, but for many years its attention was centred on the easier target
in the South rather than on the North.
This relative neglect of the North is one of the main ironies oflrish history
during the inter-war years; after all, as the imperfections of the Free State's
position were gradually removed, one might have expected a concentration of
energies in an effort to drive out the 'British occupying forces' from Ulster.
But Sinn Fein and the IRA had always been weak in the North, Ulster had
played only a minor role in the Anglo-Irish war, and the great majority of
killings since 1922 had been in the course of traditional sectarian conflict.
Incursions across the border died down after 1923, and for most of the 1920s
and 1930s the Northern units of the IRA saw their role as a defensive one,
protecting the Catholic minority against the Protestant majority. The violent
riots of 1935 showed the necessity of such protection.
North or South of the border, no-one could deny that the IRA's record
since 1922 had been pitiful. It had survived and preserved its much-valued
continuity, and if circumstances should improve there were men prepared to
utilise them. The more active spirits felt that this was quite insufficient, and
that more drastic steps were called for. In the late 1930s these men won the day
and, led by Sean Russell, took over the leadership of the organisation.
For years Russell had demanded an attack on Britain, arguing that this
170
Michael Laffan
would both intimidate the British public into abandoning Northern Ireland
and unite Irishmen behind the IRA. One of his followers described his attitude
as follows. De Valera
would not dare interfere with the IRA men going out to take part in the
campaign or their return for shelter. The British would blame him for such a
policy and very soon he would be forced to take his stand with us and the
1920-21 position would be restored. Alternatively he would interfere with
us. The people would rise in anger against him and rally round us. 38
Many of Russell's colleagues argued that Northern Ireland was a more
natural as well as an easier target- after all, the IRA's grievance was the
presence of British troops in Ulster, not in England. He paid no attention,
purged his opponents, and went ahead with his plans. Apart from the AngloIrish war, Russell's bombing campaign in 1939-40 was to be the IRA's only
sustained exercise in terror until the 1970s. It was an utter failure. The
preparations, training and finance were all inadequate, little respect was paid
to the master plan, and local IRA units in Britain decided on the targets. From
January 1939 onwards bombs went off at electrical lines, power stations, left
luggage offices, the London underground, banks, cinemas and other public
places. Even Madame Tussaud's did not escape. Care was taken not to attack
individuals, and in the first seven months of the year, in the course of 127
attacks, only one person was killed and 55 injured. 39 But in Coventry in
August a bomb went off in the wrong place killing five people and injuring
sixty. The British government introduced emergency legislation, Irishmen
were deported and checks made on travellers between Britain and Ireland.
The bombers were steadily rounded up (in separate raids the arrests included
the 16 year-old Brendan Behan and his 77 year-old grandmother) and the
campaign faded out in early 1940.
The outbreak of the Second World War created new difficulties for the IRA.
De Valera was anxious above all to preserve Irish neutrality and he regarded
the bombing campaign in England and the IRA's links with Germany as a
grave embarrassment. This was compounded by a flamboyant, melodramatic
coup in December 1939 when the magazine fort in the Phoenix Park in Dublin
was raided and a million rounds of ammunition were seized. The government
and the Irish army were mortified, but so were the local IRA commanders who
could not cope with such an unexpected windfall. The government's response
was immediate and effective- so much so that it is said more weapons and
ammunition were recovered from raids on IRA arms stores all over the
country than had been taken from the magazine. From then on the army and
police were relentless in their attacks on the IRA. Its leaders were on the run
until they were rounded up and imprisoned or interned; during the war over
five hundred were interned and six hundred convicted under the Offences
against the State Act, six IRA men were executed and three died as a result of
hunger strikes. IRA action dwindled away.
171
The coup de grace came with the Stephen Hayes affair. Hayes succeeded
Russell as chief of staff, but under the special wartime circumstances proved
spectacularly ineffective40 - to such an extent that some of his more impatient
and aggressive colleagues in the North decided that he was a British agent
deliberately destroying the organisation. 1n June 1941 they kidnapped him,
held him prisoner for ten weeks, tortured him, tried him and sentenced him to
death, but allowed him write out a lengthy confession, in the style of the
Stalinist purges, before his execution. Hayes lingered over the extravagent
details of this confession. Eventually he managed to escape and fled, his legs
still chained together, to the sanctuary of a Dublin police station. 41 He was
safe from his former captors, but spent the rest of the war in prison. Once the
full, farcical details were made public it was hard for people to view the IRA
seriously any longer. The arrests continued and by the end of the war, for the
first time, continuity in the IRA's leadership had been broken. De Valera, the
rebel of the civil war, had done what the British and the Cumann na nGaedheal
governments had been unable to do.
The postwar history of the IRA, which will be treated briefly, almost as a
postscript, was one of mixed fortunes in which the problems and opportunities encountered in the 1920s and 1930s repeated themselves. The main
change, mentioned above, was a new concentration on Northern Ireland. The
lure of politics continued. In 1946 Sean MacBride, one of the most prominent
IRA leaders of the inter-war years, formed a new party, and two years later
joined in coalition with the survivors and successors of the 1920s treatyite
government. As in 1932 there were short-term gains for the extremists when
one of their former colleagues came to power, and the remaining IRA
prisoners were released, but the fact remained that once again a republican
had 'sold out', had recognised the status quo and its institutions.
Between 1956 and 1962 a new attack was launched against British forces in
Ulster. By this time the benefits of the welfare state and the lessening of
sectarian tensions had weakened Northern Catholics' faith both in a united
Ireland and in the IRA as their protector, and significantly the driving force
for the new campaign came from South of the border. Once again it proved a
miserable failure. In the five years it lasted 18 people were killed (in gruesome
contrast the total during the 1970s would be over a hundred times as great)
and the IRA statement calling off the campaign admitted that 'foremost
among the factors motivating this course of action has been the attitude of the
general public whose minds have deliberately been distracted from the
supreme issue facing the Irish people- the unity and freedom of Ireland'.
There followed, in the 1960s, a return to the minority position of the 1920s
and 1930s, a flirtation with left-wing ideas. Attention turned to questions such
as housing and trade union organisation, and the IRA gave its support to the
civil-rights movement, but this attitude was dropped promptly when national
and sectarian problems re-emerged at the end of the 1960s. In August 1969 the
Catholics' old fears were revived as Protestant mobs attacked their ghettoes
and rendered 3,000 of them homeless. The Provisional IRA was formed a few
172
Michael Laffan
months later when the traditionalist rank and file, disenchanted with the way
in which their leaders' pacifism and social conscience had led to the Catholic
areas being undefended (and the embarrassing slogan IRA= I Ran Away)
decided to revert to the time-honoured aim of driving the British out and
reunifying the island. All questions of social reform would be left aside until
those first objectives had been achieved. As ever, the fact that the revived IRA
was soon rejected by most Irish nationalists, on both sides of the border,
carried no weight; what was new in the 1970s was the IRA's inability to win
any parliamentary seat in any election, North or South.
The Provisional IRA has shown a new ruthlessness which had been lacking
in the half-hearted campaign of 1956-62, or in Russell's bombing attacks in
1939/40; lacking often in the Anglo-Irish war of 1919-21. No matter how
much the IRA might be sustained by its long tradition its tactics have
naturally more in common with those of modem terrorist groups such as
Irgun, EOKA, the FLN or the PLO than with those of its Irish predecessors.
One former member describes the Provisionals' attitude most revealingly:
The Army Council's first target was to kill thirty-six British soldiers- the
same number who died in Aden. The target was reached in early November
1971. But this, the Army Council felt, was not enough: I remember Dave
[O'Connell], amongst others, saying: 'We've got to get eighty'. Once eighty
had been killed, Dave felt, the pressure on the British to withdraw would be
immense. I remember the feeling of satisfaction we had at hearing another
one had died. 42
However brutal and politically blind the Provisional IRA might be, however
far removed its members are from the self-sacrifice of Pearse or the
pragmatism of Collins, they remain unworthy heirs to an unbroken tradition
going back to the mid-nineteenth century. Even their political obtuseness is a
result of their divorce between Ireland and Irishmen, of their contempt for
majority opinion and in particular for those who pander to majority opinion,
politicians; and such attitudes have a long history in the IRB/IRA. However
much ordinary Irishmen might disapprove of their actions, the mere fact that
the Provisionals represent, however misguidedly, the present generation in the
age-old fight against the British enemy has won them a certain sympathy; they
are regarded as stupid and cruel, but their hearts are felt to be in the right
place. This sympathy is felt at the highest levels. In 1970 the Irish taoiseach,
Jack Lynch, dismissed Charles Haughey and Neil Blaney, the two most
powerful ministers in his cabinet, for running guns to Northern Ireland. Both
men were arrested, but charges against Mr Blaney were dropped and Mr
Haughey was acquitted after two trials. Years later Mr Blaney told the Dail
about the role he had played.
Not only did circumstances bring the freedom fighters into existence but so
did the promised support of help, not just by me but by a whole lot of others,
173
who helped bring into existence shortly after those who are now condemned
as terrorists, murderers- the gunmen of the Provisional IRA. 43
Irish attitudes are ambivalent. The same person will deplore the Provisionals
when they plant bombs in restaurants or kill children in crossfire, but applaud
them when they escape from jail. Almost all non-unionist Irishmen regard
British policy towards Ireland, at any period, with a well-merited distrust, 44
and any movement which can identify itself with the long tradition of active
opposition to the British presence in Ireland can draw on latent support.
As an Irish political scientist has argued,
it seems reasonable to admit the claim of the Provisional IRA ... as the
true descendant of the unreconstructed Irish republican tradition of the
mid-nineteenth century ... they have a legitimacy of sorts ... in politics
you do not have to be illegitimate to be a bastard. 45
NOTES
I.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
174
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
Michael Laffan
Breen, p. 52.
D. Figgis, Recollections of the Irish War (Dublin, 1927) p. 243.
The Times (12 December 1919).
Public Record Office, London, C0.904f110, inspector general's report (15
October 1919).
Townshend, p. 26.
E. O'Malley, On another man's wound, 2nd edn. (Dublin, 1979) p. 317.
An t-Oglach, I, i (15 August 1918).
Curiously enough. the questions of the Crown and the Free State's constitutional
relationship with the empire were the key issues in the treaty debates and the civil
war. All sides assumed that, sooner or later, the North would be forced to merge
with the South.
Dail Eireann Official Report: Debate on the Treaty, p. 274 (6 January 1922).
F. S. L. Lyons, Ireland since the Famine, 2nd edn. (London, 1973) p. 454.
This attitude persisted. In 1933 Sean MacBride, one of the IRA leaders (in later
phases of his career to become Irish foreign minister and Nobel peace prize
winner), tried in vain to convince de Valera, now in power, that 'most of the high
Government officials are merely British secret service agents' (MacBride to Joe
McGarrity, 19 October 1933, McGarrity papers, National Library of Ireland MS
17,456).
Longford and O'Neill, p. 207; J. A. Gaughan, Austin Stack: Portrait of a
Separatist (Dublin, 1977) p. 220.
Longford and O'Neill, p. 207.
Although the IRB lingered on untill924, in the words of a recent authority 'from
February 1922 the IRB as a national organisation ceased to function' and by 1923
it 'had become the servant and not the master of the military forces in the state' (J.
O'Beime-Ranelagh, 'The IRB from the treaty to 1924', Irish Historical Studies
xx, no. 77 (March 1976) pp. 32, 39).
P. O'Donnell, The Gates Flew Open (London, 1932) pp. 178-9.
J. Bowyer Bell, The Secret Army (1970) p. 53.
Fianna Fail, whose first leaders had thrice resorted to arms in defiance of the
people's views, has held power democratically for all but ten years since 1932.
Dail Eireann Official Report, 28, cols. 1399-1400 ( 14 March 1929).
T. P. Coogan, The IRA (London, 1970) p. 80.
S. Hayes, 'My Strange Story', The Bell (Dublin) xvii, 4 (July 1951) pp. 12-13.
Bell. p. 160.
He later admitted his responsibilities were 'entirely beyond my experience and
ability. I looked on myself merely as a recording caretaker clerk' (Hayes, p. 14).
Bell, pp. 201-7; Hayes, The Bell, XVII, 5 (August 1951) pp. 42-51.
M. Maguire, To Take Arms (London, 1973) pp. 74-5.
Dail Eireann Official Report, 264, col. 668 (1 December 1972); cited in Cruise
O'Brien, p. 139. Both meiJ have retained widespread support and influence. In
June 1979 Mr Blaney wast lected triumphantly to the European parliament, and
in December 1979 Mr Haughey succeeded Mr Lynch as taoiseach.
Nowadays, of course, unionists share this distrust, for opposite reasons.
T. Garvin, 'The Discreet Charm of the National Bourgeoisie', Third Degree, I, i
(Dublin, Spring 1977) pp. 16-17.
176
Andrew R. Carlson
Reinsdorf was perhaps the most famous German anarchist of this period.
At the outset of 1874 Reinsdorf, who was an anarchist before Johann Most
came around to such a point of view, wrote to Most that 'the only way to
realize their goals and aspirations would be through a second St.
Bartholomew's Night', this according to Reinsdorf 'was the only possible
solution to the social question'. 3
On 2 October 1875 the first German anarchist program was drawn up in
Bern at Werner's suggestion, and signed by the 25 members of the group
which also included Rinke. The program stated that the existing society was
based on personal property and had as its political organisation the state,
which it declared was nothing more than a weapon in the hands of the ruling
class. The state, it went on to say, must disappear and make room for the
society of the future, which would be a society based on the principle of the
free formation of groups of individuals. Such a society would have as its
economic foundation the common possession of the soil, the mines, capital,
the great lines of communication, and the tools of work. History, the program
contended, demonstrated that a violent solution was necessary in order to
achieve the transition from the unjust society of the past to the just society of
the future. 4
A newspaper, the Arbeiter Zeitung, was formed by the members of the
group for the purpose of spreading anarchist propaganda into German
speaking areas. The Arbeiter Zeitung was published in Bern from 15 July 1876
to 13 October 1877. Reinsdorf, Rinke, and Werner were among the founders
of the paper. The first issue notes that it would take too long to bring about a
change in society through achieving a legally constituted majority in
parliament. They wanted quicker results - advocating more violent methods
because: 5
For he who possesses nothing
Freedom of the press is a lie
Freedom of speech is a lie
Freedom of thought is a lie
Freedom of assembly is a lie
Freedom of participation is a lie
All theoretical freedoms are open lies
For he who possesses nothing freedom means nothing, for the lame the
freedom to walk, for the blind the freedom to see, for it is not enough to
permit something to happen or to only have laws which allow it, one must
also have the necessary means by which possessions can be obtained.
Reinsdorfwas active in this period smuggling copies of the Arbeiter Zeitung
into Germany and attempting to form small anarchist cells there. Werner and
Rinke were also active. Naturally the efforts of the anarchists to spread their
propaganda in Germany brought them into conflict with the Social Demo-
177
cratic Party (SPD). At the Universal Socialist Congress, held in Ghent 9-I6
September 1877, Werner, in a speech, indicated that the anarchists intended to
increase their activity in Germany, thus jeopardising gains that the SPD had
made there. His remarks so infuriated Liebknecht, that he jumped to his feet
and offered a counter challenge to Werner, 'If you dare to come to Germany
and attack our organization, we shall annihilate you using any means
necessary'. 6
During I876 /7 Reinsdorf spent a good deal of time in Leipzig where he
attended Social Democratic meetings to present the anarchist point of view.
Converts came slowly, but after a while Reinsdorf managed to gather a small
circle of adherents. One member of Reinsdorf's group was Max Hodel. It is
highly possible that Reinsdorf also came in contact with Dr Carl Nobiling,
who was still a student in Leipzig at the time. Nobiling appears to have known
Werner. Most claims that both Hodel's and Nobiling's attempts on
Wilhelm I were inspired by Reinsdorf, but the connection is tenuous as will be
pointed out. 7
The plan which the German anarchists were following was to invade
meetings of the Social Democrats and use the opportunity to speak at these
meetings to make converts to anarchism. In general, then, the anarchists did
not seek out new territories but went to the industrial centers and cities of
Germany where the Social Democrats had already made considerable inroads. The principal centers of anti-authoritarianism and anarchism in
Germany in the years I876-8 were Leipzig, Munich, and Berlin;
Southern Germany, in general, was more receptive to anarchist ideas than
Northern Germany.
The situation in Germany in the spring of I878 found Reinsdorfin Berlin,
Werner in Leipzig and Rinke in either Munich or Cologne. Anarchist groups
had been formed in Leipzig, Munich, Berlin and a number of other places. The
stage was set for a series of events which would change the entire course of the
socialist movement in Germany.
Anarchism in Germany prior to the attempt, by Hodel, on the life of the
German Emperor, was more of a source of annoyance to the Social
Democratic Party than anything else. The threat that the anarchists would
take over the leadership of the labor movement was never close to being
realised. As far as the government and the middle-class citizenry of Germany
were concerned the anarchists were nothing more than a part of the odious
socialist movement. The confusion is not surprising because the majority of
both the socialists and anarchists were not certain themselves of their
respective positions. Part of the task of the next decade was to define their
ideologies and clarify their differences.
Saturday, II May 1878 was a usual warm spring day in Berlin. The sun was
shining and the water vendors were busy plying their trade on the city's main
thoroughfare, Unter den Linden. The German Emperor, Wilhelm I (I796I888), as was his daily habit, was out taking his afternoon constitutional in an
178
Andrew R. Carlson
179
It is almost beyond belief that the Berlin police did not attach greater
importance to an undated letter Emil Werner, living in Leipzig at the time,
wrote to Paul Brousse who was serving as editor of L'avant-Garde in Chauxde-Fonds, Switzerland. The contents of this letter revealed that Leo Frankel
had been arrested and that, 'it would be in the best interest of the cause if
Nobiling would soon die'. The letter went on to say that Nobiling was to have
been initiated into the International but his sponsor, Paul Dentler, had died in
Berlin five to six weeks previously. 13 The tone of this letter leads me to believe
that Werner was aquainted to some extent with Nobiling, which is very
possible considering the time Nobiling spent in Leipzig. It is amazing, almost
beyond belief, that the police did not investigate Emil Werner more
thoroughly in view of the fact that their investigations had demonstrated that
Hodel had associated with him in Leipzig. 14 There is nothing in the letter to
connect Werner directly with Nobiling but the implication is there both in
Werner's statement, that it would be in the best interest of the cause if
Nobiling would soon die, and also in his statement that Nobiling had been
slated for membership in the International. The Berlin police were cognisant
of Nobiling's trips to Leipzig. Upon his return to Berlin from these trips he
talked to a number of people about the International. The police had enough
circumstantial evidence to pick up Werner for questioning but did not.
It is doubtful if Leo Frankel (1844-96) was actually involved with the
attempt on the life of the Emperor even though his name is mentioned several
times. Frankel was, it is true, a former communard and both Hodel and
Nobiling were imbued with enthusiasm for the ideas of the Commune.
However, after the Commune Frankel became prominent in founding the
Social Democratic Party in Hungary and was quite closely associated with
Marx. Frankel attended the Universal Socialist Congress in Ghent from 1-15
September 1877, where he ccune in contact with Rinke and Werner. At the
congress Frankel stood in opposition to the anarchists. He was forced to leave
Belgium a day before the congress adjourned and returned to his native
Hungary where he took part in the first socialist congress held in Hungary
during the period 21-2 Aprill878. According to his biographer, Frankel was
in Hungary during the period of the two attempts; nowhere in the biography is
any mention made of the attempts. There is also nothing to indicate that
Frankel was arrested at the time. 1 5
The Leo Frankel who was reported to the Berlin police supposedly was
living at the time in Frankfurt-am-Main. It is quite possible that when Werner
related to Paul Brousse, also a former communard, that Leo Frankel had been
arrested he was actually referring to Otto Rinke. Werner does not say where
he was arrested. Victor Dave a number of years later related that Rinke had
been arrested in 1878 in the city of Cologne while using the name Otto Rau. It
was a common practice for anarchists to use the names of well known Social
Democrats as aliases. Reinsdorf at this period called himself Bernstein. 16 It is
quite reasonable to assume that Rinke might have used the name Leo Frankel.
180
Andrew R. Carlson
At Ghent, Frankel had sided with the Social Democrats against the
anarchists. Liebknecht had openly attacked Rinke at Ghent with the approval
of the rest of the Social Democrats. One way for Rinke to retaliate against the
Social Democrats and at the same time to hide his identity would be to use the
name of a Social Democrat as an alias. He could not use Liebknecht's name
because Liebknecht was much older and also his face was reasonably well
known because it was the practice of the time to sell pictures on the street of
prominent Social Democratic Party leaders. Frankel, a Hungarian, was not
popularly known and was close to Rinke's own age. 17
It can be said with some degree of certainty that there was some connection
between Hodel and Nobiling. At least both of them were associated with the
German section of the Jura Federation, whose titular head in Germany was Emil
Werner in Leipzig. Another connection between Hodel and Nobiling and the
Germans who helped found the Arbeiter-Zeitung in Bern is evident upon
reading the lead article in Paul Brousse's L'avant Garde (17 June 1878)
entitled, 'Hodel, Nobiling and Propaganda by Deed', in which the acts of
Hodel and Nobiling are praised. The article also implies that in some way
L 'avant Garde should claim a share of the glory for these two attempts.
Brousse helped found the Arbeiter-Zeitung along with Werner, Rinke, and a
number of others. He continued to be a good friend of Werner and Rinke and,
as has already been noted, L 'avant Garde took the place of the defunct
Arbeiter-Zeitung. The Geneva section of the Jura Federation following
Hodel's execution passed a resolution declaring Hodel to be a martyr for the
rights of mankind. 18
The general tenor of the Nobiling documents tend to indicate that the Berlin
police were aware that the Nobiling and Hodel attempts were connected, but
they never succeeded in actually getting enough concrete evidence to prove it.
They spent too much time looking in the wrong. places. If they had
concentrated their efforts in Leipzig, Frankfurt-am-Main, and Switzerland,
they probably would have found more information. Instead they seemed to be
looking for some sort of international conspiracy, on a more grandiose scale,
and Nobiling's travels pointed them in this direction. They conducted no
investigation in Frankfurt and the investigation in Leipzig was limited to
Nobiling's student associates and his land lady. For some unknown reason
they failed to investigate Emil Werner whose name appears in both the Hodel
and Nobiling documents. The German police network in Switzerland does not
appear to have been very well-developed in 1878. The documents give the
impression that they were primarily dependent upon Swiss sources for
information.
Actually, as events proceeded after the Nobiling attempt, it became less and
less desirable to find the group guilty of masterminding the two attempts or to
establish a connection between the two. A scapegoat was named the night of
the Nobiling attempt, as it was after the Hodel attempt and the burden of
police efforts were aimed not at solving the Nobiling case, but at proving that
181
Nobiling had connections with the Social Democratic Party. The HOdel and
Nobiling investigations were very similar; however, the police demonstrated
beyond the shadow of a doubt that Hodel was an anarchist and that the SPD
was not to blame for his crime. Nevertheless, an attempt was made to force
through anti-socialist legislation on the false premise that Hodel was a
socialist. In the Nobiling investigation the police turned up enough evidence
to demonstrate conclusively, as in the Hodel case, that Nobiling had attended
Social Democratic meetings and had connections with the Social Democratic
Party. They also turned up conclusive evidence that Nobiling's act could in no
way be attributed to the Social Democratic Party, but this evidence, as in the
Hodel case, was not made public.
The afternoon extras which came off the presses announcing the second
attempt on the German Emperor did not imply that the assassin was
connected with the socialists. The evening editions of the Post and Berliner
Tageb/att though carried information that Social Democratic writings were
found among Nobiling's possessions. During the night of 2/3 June, or more
precisely in the early morning hours of 3 June, a bombshell was exploded
which would do irreparable damage to the image of the Social Democratic
Party in Germany. At 2 am the Wolff Telegraph Bureau in Berlin sent out over
the wires a message which was described as an 'official' government release on
the Nobiling attempt. The next morning Germans awoke to read in their
newspapers the text of the Wolff telegram which said: 19
Subsequent interrogation ofthe assassin Nobiling has revealed that he holds
socialist inclinations, also that he repeatedly attended socialist meetings
here and that he has intended for a week to shoot His Majesty the Kaiser,
because he maintains that it would be beneficial for the common welfare to
eliminate the head of the state.
The arrival of this telegram at the news office of Vorwiirts in Leipzig sent a
feeling of consternation through Bebel, Liebknecht and Hasenclever who had
gathered there on the morning of 3 June to determine if any of them knew
Nobiling. The Wolff telegram shocked them out of their earlier feeling of
security which they had achieved by receipt of an earlier telegram which
carried no mention of N obiling being connected with the socialists. Bebel had
remarked, 'now they can't hang us on his coattails'. 20 This feeling of safety
vanished when the Wolff telegram arrived and they became aware of the
implication it could have for their movement.
Both Bebel and Bernstein on a number of occasions pointed out that this
telegram was nothing more than a bold-faced lie. 21 Bernstein maintained that
Nobiling was in no physical shape to be questioned or to reveal any
information after his capture because of his wound. Bebel claimed that
Nobiling was too severely injured to be examined and that he was unable to
speak. 22 Bernstein's opinion is the same as that of Bebel, and it was probably
182
Andrew R. Carlson
183
included in the telegram? Why was this official news release so vague? We
must conclude that someone wanted the telegram to imply that Nobiling was
connected with the Social Democratic Party, so therefore the entire Social
Democratic Party was responsible for the crime and should be punished. Who
would benefit from such a scheme? It is obvious that the telegram had as its
intention to heat up the fires of outrage against the Social Democratic Party in
Germany. In most minds in Germany socialist referred to only one thing, the
German Socialist Democratic Party. It did not have to be written out, the term
'Socialist' was sufficient.
Who then is responsible for this telegram which may properly be called the
second Ems telegram because the same thing was done with it as with the Ems
dispatch and it achieved a similar success. The results of Nobiling's
interrogation appear in the telegram in such a way that no lies are told, but the
truth was not revealed either. The real heart ofNobiling's testimony is that he
acted with others in a plan to follow up the unsuccessful Hodel attempt and
that the Social Democratic Party was in no way connected to the plot. This
information was all missing in the Wolff telegram. The falsification was
greater than Bebel or Bernstein ever imagined because they worked on the
assumption that Nobiling's physical condition would not permit questioning.
It can be assumed that the Wolff telegram was authorised by someone who
wanted deliberately to place the Social Democratic Party in a position of
jeopardy. In the Nobiling documents there are both a handwritten copy of the
telegram and a printed copy. The handwritten copy of the telegram is not
signed, but it is written in the same handwriting as the extracts from the
Nobiling interrogations which are signed by Lothar Bucher (1817-92). 25 The
document signed by Lothar Bucher is a summary of the interrogation of
Nobiling by the Untersuchungsrichter Johl. It is not a verbatim account but it
is accurate. It is greatly reduced in size which leads me to believe that it was
shortened for the purpose of telegraphing it to someone. Numerous abbreviations are also used. The news of the Nobiling attempt was telegraphed to
Bismarck, and although it cannot be proven, probably the telegram which was
sent contained the summarised version of the Nobiling interrogation which
Bucher had extracted. Surely Bismarck must have been aware that if the
second attempt were used properly it could open up new avenues to
accomplish what he had failed to do after the Hodel attempt, namely the
passage of an anti-socialist law. He saw this possibility when Hodel made his
attempt on the Kaiser. At that time he was also at Friedrichsruhe and the
evening of the Hodel attempt he telegraphed Biilow telling him that the
incident should be seized on as a pretext for introducing a law against
the socialists. Bismarck must have realised that if he managed the Nobiling
affair properly he could make a great deal of political capital out of it, whip up
feeling among the German public and in the end achieve his objectives, the
suppression of the Social Democratic Party and the breaking of the power of
the National Liberals who had voted against his bill to suppress the socialists
Andrew R. Carlson
184
after the Hodel affair. The original draft of the Wolff telegram, written in
Bucher's handwriting, was more than likely transmitted to Berlin from
Bismarck after he had read the telegram he had received which contained the
summarised version of Nobiling's interrogation. Bismarck probably sent the
text of the telegram to Bucher, authorising him to release it as an official
statement on the assassination attempt. Bismarck was actually the only one in
a position to release an official statement. William I could not, and until the
Crown Prince could return home, Bismarck, as Chancellor, was the only one
in a position to authorise such a statement. In view of the fact that the original
draft of the telegram, which was probably transmitted in cipher, is in Bucher's
handwriting, it is almost certain that Bismarck wrote it and authorised that it
be released. 26 This time Bismarck was successful in obtaining passage of an
anti-socialist law.
Following the passage of the Socialist Law, Johann Most ( 1846-1906), who
was rapidly moving in the direction of the anarchist camp, was to be drummed
out of the SPD in 1880. Most was set free from prison on 16 December 1878
and the SPD was relieved when he left Germany for London; however, once
there he started to publish Freiheit which was originally intended to be a Social
Democratic paper, published for the purpose of smuggling it into Germany.
Freiheit, in unrestrained language called for the violent destruction of the
state, the church, existing society, and above all kings. Freiheit played a role in
helping Bismarck renew the Socialist Law four times. The SPD wished to
disassociate themselves from Most and his flamboyant newspaper, which
became anarchist in tone in 1880 with Reinsdorf playing the crucial role in
Most's conversion.
The smuggling of Freiheit into Germany is an interesting and colorful part
of German anarchist history. Table 12.1 gives an idea of the number of copies
published and the number sent into Germany. 27
TABLE
12.1:
Date
No. of Copies
Printed
No. of Copies
Sent to Germany
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1,000-1,500
2,000
500-1 ,200
2,000-2,700
5,000
5,000
5,000
5,000
800-1 ,200
1,800
400-1,000
1,800-2,500
4,500 (incl. Austria)
4,500 (incl. Austria)
4,500 (incl. Austria)
4,500 (incl. Austria)
Freiheit, both in its home office and in its distribution agents and
correspondents in Germany was infiltrated with police spies. There were
185
Articles of this sort had their effect and were used by von Puttkamer to force
a renewal of the Socialist Law in the Reichstag, because, as he argued, if
stringent measures were not taken against the socialists, then 'throne, altar,
and Geldsack' would fall under the social revolution as Wichmann claimed.
The value of such articles cannot be overestimated because German
authorities interested in suppressing socialism could show, printed in black
and white, what could be expected if the socialists and anarchists were allowed
to multiply. 33
The anarchist cell organisation, which had been developing in Germany,
was broken up in December 1880 when police arrested 44 members in
Darmstadt, Bessingen, Bockenheim, Lechhausen, Offenbach, Augsburg,
Pforzheim, Mannheim, Hanau, and other places. An interesting sidelight of
the case were the fantastic stories which were concocted by the press, some of
which were actually believed by the police. It was assumed by the Berlin police
that an attempt would be made to throw a bomb from the gallery of the
Reichstag.down onto the deputies while they were in session. It was also
186
Andrew R. Carlson
believed that someone would try to blow up the police station in which the
records of the accused were stored. Police investigation, however, did not tum
up any evidence to substantiate these wild claims. All of the paraphernalia of a
typical anarchist trial was introduced as evidence to condemn the 15 who were
accused of high treason: letters written in invisible ink, secret printing presses,
revolvers, ropes, cipher writing, poison, rifles, daggers, dynamite cartridges,
sulphuric acid, strychnine and other assorted destructive chemicals, poems
glorifying dynamite, and issues of Freiheit. The person the judges would like to
have had on trial was Johann Most, because his name cropped up more often
than any other at the trial. Most and his newspaper Freiheit, were the primary
reasons behind the trial: thus Most was probably correct when he claimed that
his name was mentioned in every treason trial in Germany and Austria during
this period. 34 It.was not empty bragging when Most made such a statement.
During the decade of the 1880s his name was known to most German officials
as well as a household word synonymous with violence. During the period of
the Socialist Law Most was better known than some of the less significant
members of the SPD who have since been enshrined. 35
The German scene in the decade of the 1880s is a muddled and confused
one. The outward impression is that the government wanted to suppress the
anarchists completely, yet there is evidence to demonstrate that when the
anarchists reached a low point, the German government itself subsidised the
movement through agents provocateurs. The cases of Wichmann and Wolf
who wrote for Freiheit have already been referred to above. In 1881 the
merchant Elias Schmidt from Dresden was hired by the Dresden Kriminalrat
Weller and Kommissar Paul, as well as Police Inspector Kaltenbach in
Miilhausen. Schmidt was sent to Switzerland and in Ziirich he established an
assassination fund for the purpose of carrying out acts of 'propaganda by
deed' in Germany. The first 20 francs donated to the fund were given by
Schmidt which came from police funds. He was not exposed as a police agent
until November 1882. The plumber Weiss, from Dresden, who in Liestal bei
Basel in Switzerland distributed anarchist literature glorifying robbery,
murder, and 'propaganda by deed', was also, like Schmidt, a paid police
agent. 36
In a personal memorandum early in Aprill881, Bismarck noted delightedly
that the English were going to do something about Most for his story on the
death of Alexander II. He hoped that they would impose more stringent
measures against Freiheit and the followers of Most in England. 37 On the
other hand one the English got Freiheit on the run for the publication of an
article glorifying the assassination of Lord Cavendish, forcing the paper to
leave England for Switzerland, there is considerable evidence to show that the
Berlin police may have paid for the printing of Freiheit. During the period that
Freiheit was in Switzerland the Berlin police made considerable use of a
cabinet-maker named Karl Schroder whom they had hired in 1881 as a spy.
He was paid 250 marks a month. Hi~ duties were to gather socialist and
187
188
Andrew R. Carlson
started to appear in Freiheit which were intended to instill in the readers the
value of terrorism and 'propaganda by deed' often giving explicit instructions
in the manufacture and use of explosives including dynamite and
nitroglycerin. Detailed instructions were also given on how to use fire, poison,
and knives in the most effective way. 40 Most told his readers that 'the
revolution has no respect for things or people who are connected with the
existing system of robbery and murder. Such people are condemned and will
sooner or later receive their just fate'. 41 He called for the destruction of the
means of communication, the dynamiting of homes, offices, churches, stores,
and factories, saying that 'lead and dynamite, poison and knives are the
weapons with which our brothers will open the skirmish'. 42 'All methods are
justified to achieve the social revolution'. 43 And 'it was time for the atonement
of the crimes committed against society using the principle of "an eye for an
eye'". 44 To people of the temperament of Hodel and Nobiling living in
Germany, Most advised 'Ready, aim, fire'. 45
Most warned the German aristocracy that:
Every prince will find his Brutus. Poison on the table of the gourmet will
cancel out his debt. Dynamite will explode in the splendid, rubber tyred,
coaches of the aristocracy and bourgeois as they pull up to the opera. Death
will await them, both by day and by night, on all roads and footpaths and
even in their homes, lurking in a thousand different forms. 46
Shake you dogs, you blood suckers, you violators of young girls, you
murderers and executioners -the day of retribution, the day of vengeance
draws near. 47
Most said quite frankly:
We will murder those who must be killed in order to be free ... We do not
dispute over whether it is right or wrong. Say what you will, do what you do,
but the victor is right. Comrades of'Freiheit', we say murder the murderers.
Rescue mankind through blood, iron, poison, and dynamite. 48
We believe once and for all in powder and lead, poison, knives, dynamite,
and fire. With these the people will be able to argue more loudly and
stronger; with these our goals will be attained more surely and quickly. 49
The columns of Freiheit for the period from late 1880 through July 1885 are
literally full of articles urging workers on to perform acts of 'propaganda by
deed'. Much of the information contained in these articles on the production
and deployment of bombs, explosives, poison, knives and so forth were
incorporated into a 74-page book by Most entitled Revolutioniire
Kriegswissenschaft: Ein Handbuchlein zur Anleitung betreffend Gebrauches und
Herstellung von Nitroglyzerin. Dynamit, Schiessbaumwol/e, Knallquecksilber,
Bomben, Brandsiitzen, Giften, usw. 50
189
190
Andrew R. Carlson
191
half of what they earn. My lawyer wanted to save my head, but for a hunted
proletarian as myself, the quickest death is the best. 55
He went on to point out that the excessive use of house searches by the
German police and the paying of police spies such as Palm and Weidenmuller
demonstrated how corrupt society had become. He told how Police Commissioner Gottschalk, who had employed Palm and Weidenmuller, knew in
advance of the Niederwald attempt and did nothing to stop it. Reinsdorf
claimed that it was Gottschalk who was responsible for Kuchler being on trial
because he had instructed Rupsch to carry out the plan alone, but when Palm
gave Kuchler 40 marks there was enough money for Kuchler to go along and
keep an eye on the younger Rupsch. Reinsdorfmaintained that the use by the
police of such people as Palm was sufficient evidence of the decadence and
corruption of society: 'against such corruption are not our deeds justified?' 'If
I had ten heads I would offer them gladly and lay them on the block for the
cause of anarchism.' 5 6 He ended his moving speech with 'The social revolution
will never be abandoned, even if there are a hundred tribunals. The people will
one day have enough dynamite to blow up all of you and every other member
of the bourgeois.' 5 7
For his part in the Niederwald attempt Reinsdorf was beheaded on
7 February 1885. His last words were 'I die for humanity, down with
barbarism, long live anarchism.'
The murder of the Frankfurt Police Chief Rumpf on 13 January 1885 can
best be thought of as a corollary to the Niederwald attempt. Most called for
revenge to atone for the sentences handed down by the tribunal in Leipzig. It
was never proven conclusively that Julius Lieske murdered Rumpf. The most
incriminating evidence against him was again, as in other trials, paid police
informers. He maintained his innocence until he was put to death. The
importance of Lieske's trial for the murder of Rumpf is that it helped to bring
into the open the widening split in the German anarchist movement. In the
Freiheit, Most claimed that Rumpf had been condemned and ordered killed
by the command of an executive committee. 58 Le Revolte replied by asking if
the German anarchists were still institutionalised. 59 Der Rebel/ answered
Freiheit by saying that the German anarchists did not follow the orders of any
executive committee, but undertook such ventures on individual initiative.
Such acts were spontaneous and committed at the discretion of the individual
and were not influenced by other members, groups, or executive committees.
Der Rebel/ maintained that they sought to achieve the complete suppression of
all authority and for that reason would never acknowledge that an executive
committee had the right to order anything. 60
These statements point out the disparity of views in the German anarchist
camp, which were eventually going to shatter what solidarity the movement had.
The arrest of John Neve on 21 February 1887, a central figure in the
German anarchist movement of the 1880s, assured that the wounds of the
192
Andrew R. Carlson
Bruderkrieg would never be healed. His arrest was the catalyst which triggered
an eruption in the German anarchist movement that had been seething since
1884. The long simmering pot boiled over extinguishing what flame remained
in the movement. The passionate exchange of charges and counkr-charges
which followed the arrest of Neve consumed what energy remained in the
movement when it could least afford it, as well as discrediting the leadership of
the movement. His arrest was a blow to the movement in another respect,
because it was impossible to replace him with an equally competent and
dedicated person. The movement was running out of men of his stature and
new men of talent were not being recruited to replace those lost. The arrest of
Neve cut off the key route by which literature and explosives were smuggled
into Germany and distributed there. It brought the Bruderkrieg to a climatic
struggle in which the leaders of the movement fell victim to the senseless
exchange of vile allegations.
For all practical purposes the early German anarchist movement was dead
by late 1887. Nevertheless it was not in the best interest of the German
government to have anarchism completely downtrodden, because it would
eliminate an important whipping boy who could be brought out as evidence of
the need for more stringent measures against the anarchists and socialists.
When it became apparent that the German anarchists did not plan to send a
delegate to the anarchist congress being held in Verviers on 21 Aprill889, the
Chief of Police in Elberfeld, Kammhoff, informed the Minister of the Interior,
Ludwig Herrfurth, that he had sent an agent to the meeting representing the
German anarchists. This person sent by Kammhoff was the only German
delegate at the congress. He presented a plan at the meeting to assassinate the
German Kaiser. 61 In effect an artificial anarchist threat was created where
none existed. That is not to say that anarchist attempts at 'propaganda by
deed' were no longer carried out in Germany, they were and would be for
several decades, but these acts were only residual effects of the old movement
because the new movement, which was finding its footing around 1890, was
not committed to a policy of'propaganda by deed', but none the less they had
to live with the reputation that the old movement had given to anarchism.
Why did the early German anarchist movement wane in the late 1880s? One
reason is the Bruderkrieg which resulted in the loss of the leadership of the
movement, as well as diminished connections that the nerve center in London
had with the continent. Another factor was the adverse effect of 'propaganda
by deed' which undermined anarchist appeal to the mass of German workers.
Still another reason was the fact that in the period 1830-90 Germany had
become an industrialised nation. The great majority of the followers of
anarchism came from the handicraft occupation which by the late 1880s were
either being absorbed into industry or were being replaced by machines.
The adoption of a policy of violence and 'propaganda by deed' on the part
of the anarchists insured the renewal of the Socialist Law as well as the passage
of more stringent measures against the use of dynamite. The adoption of
193
194
Andrew R. Carlson
methods and tactics of the anarchists, but on the other hand neither should the
policy followed by the German government be condoned. Bismarck emerges
from this study greatly tarnished; he rigged the Nobiling affair to make it
appear that the Social Democratic Party was responsible for the assassination
attempt; he hired numerous spies who wrote inflammatory articles for
anarchist newspapers, articles which were introduced as evidence for the
necessity of renewing the Socialist Law; he made use of agents provocateurs to
insure that the level of anarchist activity would be maintained at a level
necessary to insure the continuance of repressive measures against the
socialists. It was in the interest of Bismarck and the German government
always to maintain the visible appearance of a potential anarchist threat. The
bourgeoisie and the aristocracy, at whom the anarchist threats were directed,
were frightened by the violence preached in the columns of the anarchist
newspapers and were willing to accede to practically anything to insure their
own safety. Bismarck realised this and played on their fears, by creating an
artificial anarchist threat.
There are many historians who praise the accomplishments of Bismarck.
They readily point out that he was able to avoid a general European war after
1871, but how do you explain his domestic policy, which was based on lies,
duplicity and suppression. How do you rationalise using a spy to infiltrate an
anarchist meeting for the apparent purpose of obtaining information that a
crime is going to be committed, and then once you have the knowledge not
only do nothing stop it, but in fact assign agents who assist in the preparations
for the crime to insure that it would be carried out so as to make use of the
propaganda value that could be obtained from it? Is there any way to give a
satisfactory explanation of why a government should subsidise a man through
a spy, to take part in a plot to kill the head of state, and then put him on trial
and execute him as an example? Should not a responsible government put
down immediately any threat to its citizens to insure their peace of mind,
rather than create an artificial threat to keep them in a state of uneasiness?
Much has been written about Bismarck, and there are thousands of
volumes which try to explain what happened to Germany in the twentieth
century. One theme, which runs through much of this literature, is that
Bismarck had the Reich on the proper course and William II steered it onto
the shoals. One thing that is wrong with this line of reasoning is that Bismarck,
before his fall from power, created the image of the Emperor and established
the foundation stones on which the Reich was to be built in the next two and a
half decades. If William II possessed more power than one man should have, it
was to Bismarck that he owed his omnipotence. Bismarck's selection of the
foundation stones of the Reich was unfortunate as his dealings with the
anarchists demonstrate, because here he followed a deliberate policy of lies,
duplicity and suppression of all opposition. This is not a firm basis on which to
develop a government. Perhaps Bismarck was able to avoid a general
European war, but what did his policies do to Germany?
195
Bismarck ran a tight ship and steered a straight course, but the German ship
of state foundered in the storm of the First World War; it came unglued and
attempts to put it back together in the Weimar period ended in failure,
followed by dictatorship. There are many factors involved in the failure of the
Weimar Republic, but one stands out: the inability of the German electorate
and politicians to replace the monarchy with a viable form of government.
The immaturity of those in political life played a part in this because power
was thrust into the hands of those who were not prepared to deal with it. The
real cause of the failure of the political immaturity of the Weimar period is to
be found in the decades of the 1870s and 1880s. At this critical juncture in
German development, Bismarck seized upon opportunities presented to him
by the anarchists to suppress political life, especially the Social Democratic
Party, forcing them to follow a policy ofparliamentarianism. This policy was
followed by the SPD to the outbreak of the First World War. The goals of the
Social Democratic Party were unrealistic because they did not come to grips
with the essential problem that faced Germany- the concentration of power
in the hands of the Emperor.
NOTES
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
II.
12.
13.
14.
196
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
Andrew R. Carlson
Sozialdemokrat (18 January 1880), carried an article which said that Werner had
been breaking laws for years and that the police had done nothing about it. The
article also asserted that Werner's name was prominently mentioned in the
documents concerning the Hodel attempt. The writer of the article claimed that
the police did not arrest him at the time because they were waiting for Werner to
commit a serious crime to press for more repressive measures in the Reichstag.
Rudolf Rocker, Johann Most, S. 113, said that this charge was baseless. An
examination of the documents proves that Rocker was wrong and substantiates
the article in Der Sozialdemokrat, but they do not contain any clue why Werner
was not arrested. The implication of the article in Der Sozialdemokrat is that
Werner was an unwitting tool of police repression. One fact not explained by the
article is their source of information. It would appear that either the Social
Democrats had a spy in the government who had access to the Geheime PriisidialRegistratur which contained the Hodel documents, or that the writer ofthe article
made a brilliant assumption that Werner's name figured prominently in the
documents. However, the fact remains that there was sufficient evidence
connecting Werner with Hodel and Nobiling that he should have been, at the
least, picked up and questioned by police, but they chose to do nothing.
Reinsdorf claimed that the reason the Berlin police did not arrest Werner at the
time was because they did not know his whereabouts, a story that is difficult to
believe.
M. Aranyossi, Leo Frankel (East Berlin, 1957) pp. 116-40, 390. Often times his
name appears as Frankel; however, for the sake of consistency I have used it as
does his biographer.
There is also evidence stating that the Berlin police were interested in a man
named Bernstein who had been seen associating with Nobiling. Reinsdorfat this
time was in Berlin so it is very possible that the Bernstein reported to the Berlin
police was Reinsdorf. On this point see: Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv
Potsdam, Pr. Br. Rep. 30 Berlin C, Tit. 94, Lit. A., No. 242, Nobiling-Attentat,
vol. I (8613) Folders 87-8.
Another piece of information which Pinday is supposed to have allowed to leak
out to police agents in Switzerland, where he was living in exile after the
Commune, is that Leo Frankel masterminded the Nobiling attempt on William I.
More than likely this piece of information was a pure fabrication thought up by
some police informer. But it is possible that Pinday, who was an anarchist, let the
information out to discredit Frankel who was a Marxist. However, this
explanation does not seem plausible if they continued to correspond. But no
police agent in Switzerland ever saw the letter from Frankel to Pinday; they only
knew of its contents indirectly from hearing Pinday talk. Perhaps there never was
a letter. Probably he knew that whatever he said was bound to end up in the police
records so he included the name Frankel to confuse the police. Ibid. vol. I (8613)
Folders 154-5.
Avant-Garde (7 October 1878).
Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv Potsdam, Pr. Br. Rep. 30 Berlin C,Tit.
A., No. 242, Nobiling-Attentat, vol. III (8615) Folder 84 contains a printed copy
of the telegram bearing the number 2512 assigned to it by the Wolff Telegraph
Bureau and the date 3 June 1878. Folder 10 contains a handwritten copy of the
telegram with no identification number assigned to it and it is dated 2 June 1878,
so it is assumed that the handwritten copy is the original.
A. Bebel, Aus meinem Leben (East Berlin, 1964) pp. 593-4.
Ibid., p. 594; Bernstein, p. 365.
Bernstein, p. 365.
For example see: W. Pack, Das parlamentarische Ringen (Dusseldorf, 1961) p. 15;
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
197
E. Eyck, Bismarck and the German Empire (New York, 1964) p. 230f; W. Richter,
Bismarck (New York, 1965) p. 219.
Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv Potsdam, Pr. Br. Rep. 30 Berlin C, Tit.
94, Lit. A., No. 242, Nobiling Attentat, vol. III (8615) Folders 11-12. Naturally
Fritzsche denied that he knew Nobiling. Evidently the story leaked out though
and Fritzsche felt obligated to give a public denial. In the Volks-Zeitung, 164
(16 July 1878) Fritzsche said that he did not know Nobiling and that he had not
participated in any meeting with Nobiling on the theme of 'Sdrutzzoll und
Freihandel', as N obiling claimed. According to an account which appeared in the
Berliner Tageblatt, 151 (7 July 1878) such a meeting had taken place in the
late fall of 1877. It was held in the Andreasgarten in the Andreasstrasse and
the meeting ended with Nobiling speaking on the glories of the Paris Commune.
Fritzsche replied in the Volks-Zeitung, 164 (16 July 1878) that, if someone
had gotten up from the audience to speak and announced himself as Dr Nobiling,
the title doctor would have stood out in a workers' meeting and he would have
.remembered it. More than likely Nobiling did, as he claimed, have some
association with Fritzsche, but perhaps he was more of a thorn in his side than
anything else.
Bucher was Vortragender Rat in the Foreign Office, 1864-86. The part he played
for Bismarck in the Hohenzollern candidacy has been treated in detail by R. H.
Lord, The Origins ofthe War of 1870 (Cambridge, Mass., 1924); and L. D. Steefel,
Bismarck and the Hohenzol/ern Candidacy and the Origins of the War of 1870
(Cambridge, Mass., 1962) and need not be repeated here. Bismarck, according to
Holstein, regarded Bucher as a tool and 'used him to carry out all kinds of strictly
confidential and personal business'. N. Rich and M. H. Fisher, The H{)/stein
Papers, vol. I, Memoirs (Cambridge, 1955) p. 52f. For the Congress of Berlin,
which convened less than two weeks after the Nobiling attempt, Bismarck named
Bucher the Senior Counsellor of the Political Division of the Foreign Office. N.
Rich, Friedrich von Holstein: P{)/itics and Diplomacy in the Era of Bismarck and
William II, vol. I (Cambridge, 1965) p. IOlf. Bucher resigned when Herbert
Bismarck became Under State Secretary in 1885. Herbert corrected some of
Bucher's work in such a rude way that Bucher demanded his release which was
granted but Prince Bismarck saw to it that Bucher received a handsome pension
of 2,000 marks a year. Later in life Bismarck sought, and received, the services of
Bucher in writing his memoirs. Ibid., p. 122; Rich and Fisher, vol. I, p. 68. There
can be no doubt that Bismarck used and trusted Bucher. Erick Eyck relates that
Bucher was one of the few persons for whom Bismarck felt something like
friendship and that Bucher knew more of Bismarck's most intimate secrets than
any other man. Eyck, p. 164. The obvious question now has to be asked: was the
appointment of Bucher as Senior Counsellor in the Political Division in the
Foreign Office a reward for services performed in Nobiling affair? The question
has to remain open: there is no answer, but the fact remains that the original draft
ofthe Wolff telegram is in Bucher's handwriting which means that it had to come
from Bismarck.
Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv Potsdam, Pr. Br. Rep. 30 Berlin C, Tit.
94, Lit. A., No. 242, Nobiling-Attentat, vol. III (8615) Folder 11.
Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv Potsdam, Pr. Br. Rep. 30 Berlin C, Tit.
94, Lit. S., Nr. I (13,087), Folders 137, 287; vol. II (13,088) Folders 46, 106;
Anonymus, Sozia/ismus und Anarchismus in Europa und Nordamerika wiihrend
der Jahre 1883-1886 (Berlin, 1887) p. 38; Bismarck, Die gesammelten Werke, vol.
6 c (1871-90) p. 210.
D. Fricke, Bismarcks Priitorianer: Die Berliner politische Polizei im Kampf gegen
die deutsche Arbeiterbewegung 1871-1898 (East Berlin, 1962) p. 393, gives
198
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
Andrew R. Carlson
Wichmann's first initial as A., but J. Jensen, Presse und politische Polizei
(Hannover, 1966) p. 70 prints a facsimile of the first page of Wichmann's
(unpublished) memoirs, Um Ehre, Recht und Wahrheit oder wahre und Erwiesene
Erlebnisse des damaligen Geheimpolizisten W. Wichmann. On this basis I have
used W.
Laufenburg, Geschichte der Arbeiterbewegung im Hamburg (Hamburg, 1931) vol.
II, p. 230; I. Auer, Nach zehn Jahren: Material und Glossen zur Geschichte des
Sozia/istengesetzes (Nuremburg, 1913) p. 183; Jensen, p. 71; E. Ernst, Polizeispitze/eien und Ausnahmegesetze 1878-1910 (Berlin, 1911) p. 26; R. Lipinski, Die
Sozialdemokratie von ihren Anfiingen bis zu Gegenwart (Berlin, 1928) vol. II, p.
97f. Engels was rewarded for his service with the Kg/. Adlerorden 4. Klasse in
1881, and the Roter Adlerorden 4. Klasse in 1904. Jensen, p. 180.
Freiheit, 46 (13 November 1880) p. 4.
Ibid., 23 (4 June 1881) p. 4.
Ibid., 39 (24 September 1881) p. 2.
Wichmann, like Wolf, received no reward for his services. The decorations were reserved for the superiors for whom they worked. The Altona
workers eventually discovered that Wichmann was a spy, and being of no further
use to the Berlin police he was dismissed without a pension or any other form of
compensation. Like Wolf, Wichmann, too, wrote his memoirs, but once again as
in the case of Wolf, they were never published. It cannot be established that he
was intimidated by the Berlin police, or if they paid him not to publish them, but
nevertheless the handwritten copy of his memoirs, Ehre, Recht und W ahrheit oder
wahre und erwiesene Er/ebnisse des damaligen Geheimpolizisten W. Wichmann, is
found in Akten des Senats der Freien und Hansestadt, Staatsarchiv, Hamburg.
How did it get there?
Hessisches Hauptstaatsarchiv Wiesbaden, 407 Polizeipriisidium Frankfurt, 174
'Untersuchung gegen den Sozialdemokraten Joseph Breuder und Genossen in
Frankfurt a.M. wegen Hochverrats, 1880-1881'; G. Kiinzel (ed.), Der erste
Hochverrathsprozess vor dem Reichsgericht (Leipzig, 1881) pp. 11-28, 92-5,
101-18; 'Geschichte der Freiheit', Der Sozialist, No. 43 (24 October 1896) p. 255.
In Chemnitzearly in 1880 the police, in a search to Julius Vahlteich's (1839-1915)
house, found the entire first quarter of Freiheit including the first number.
R. Strauss and K. Finsterbusch, Die Chemnitzer Arbeiterbewegung unter dem
Sozialistengesetz (East Berlin, 1954) pp. 43-6; one file on Most, which contains
some interesting material, but nothing new, is in Staatsarchiv Ludwigsburg, 664,
Die Freiheit; another file, which contains nothing new, but which reveals the
significance contemporary officials attached to Most, is in Hessisches Hauptstaatsarchiv Wiesbaden, 407 Polizeipriisidium Frankfurt, 177 Sozialdemokratisches Organ Die Freiheit von Johann Most. Intus: Verschiedene Zeitungsexemplare, 1879-1894; a good example of police interest in the activities of Most
in England and the United States is found in Geheimes Staatsarchiv Munich,
Ministerial-Extradiction 1921 II, Deutsches Reich, Abteilung West I, Tit. II
Polizeiwesen A, Sozialdemokratie und Anarchismus, MA 76512, 'Die sozialdemokratische und anarchistische Bewegung' Folders 46-56, 94-110.
Lipinski, vol. II, p. 99; Ernst, p. 20f.
Bismarck, vol. 6 c, p. 210f.
Fricke, p. 235. Schroder, representing Lausanne, took part in a high level
conference in Bern on 18 June 1882. The purpose of the conference was to discuss
ways to improve the smuggling of Freiheit into Germany and Austria. Others
present were: Kennel (Freiburg), Otter (Vevey), Schmelzbach (Zurich), Heilmann (Biel), Deschner and Czerkauer. Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv
Potsdam, Pr. Br. Rep. 30 Berlin C., Polizeipriisidium, Tit. 94, Lit. S., Nr. 442, vol.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
199
200
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
59.
60.
61.
Andrew R. Carlson
Ironically 'Revolutionare Kriegswissenschaft' was published at a time when
Most was already starting to doubt the usefulness of'propaganda by deed' as an
instrument to bring about the social revolution. Although he does not renounce
'propaganda by deed', Most's actions and words in Freiheit point out that by the
middle of 1885 he had lost his confidence in violence. This facet of Most's
character was not brought out into the open at the time, even though many of his
close friends suspected it, until Alexander Berkman's assassination attempt on
the life of Henry Fricke in 1892.
Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv Potsdam, Pr. Br. Rep. 30 Berlin C., Tit.
94, Lit. S., Nr. 1255, Bd. I (13,087) Folder 184; Pr. Br. Rep. 30 Berlin C., Tit. 94,
Lit. G., Nr. 548 (10196), 'Der Schriftsetzer Joseph Alfred Gfeller', recte:
Friedrich August Reinsdorf 1880-1902.
Ibid.; Most, p. 37f.; Ernst, p. 57. The arrest of Reinsdorf added to the battle
taking place between Freiheit and Der Sozialdemokrat. On 21 November 1880,
Der Sozia/demokrat printed a short piece stating that Reinsdorf, alias Bernstein,
alias Gfeller, had gone to Germany to meet Fleuron, alias Peterson, for the
purpose of carrying out an act of 'propaganda by deed', and that they had
received 30 pounds (600 marks) from London. Reinsdorfwas already locked up
when the article appeared, but it was still considered by the anarchists a
journalistic low to print such an item.
Fricke, p. l60f.; K. Braun-Wiesbaden, 'Das Attentat auf dem Niederwald und
der Hochverrathsprozess vor dem Reichsgericht', Nord und Sud, xxxm (1885)
S. 66; P. M., 'Das Verbrechen am Niederwald', Preussische Jahrbiicher, LV (1885)
p. 116-23.
'Der Anarchistenprozess Reinsdorf und Genossen', pp. 17-22, 55-8. Expert
opinion confirmed that the place where the dynamite had been planted was such
that if the explosion had gone off as planned it would have doubtlessly killed all
the intended victims. Ibid., p. 31 f. Bismarck, claiming ill health, did not attend the
ceremony. His absence leads me to the speculation that, if he had already been
informed of the plot in advance by the police spy Palm- he obviously did nothing
to stop it- and if Kuchler and Rupsch had been successful, this would have put
Bismarck in charge of Germany. This is only a wild conjecture on my part, but the
Emperor was 86 years old and could not hope to live much longer and Bismarck
was aware by this time that Wilhelm's successor, Friedrich, felt a deep seated
animosity for him so there was no hope that he could ever control him the way he
had the old Emperor.
Ibid., S. 88.
Ibid., S. 89.
Ibid.
No. 27 (4 July 1885) p. 3.
No. 8 (14 July-2 August 1885) p. 3.
October 1885, p. I.
Lipinski, Bd. II, p. 100.
The precise meaning of the term 'propaganda by deed' has changed since it
was originally conceived as a concept in the 1870s. 1 The leaders of Italian
anarchism, Errico Malatesta, Carlo Cafiero and Emilio Covelli, had formulated the idea of'propaganda by deed' in personal discussions from July to
October 1876 in Naples and introduced it into the Anarchist International
thereafter; they understood their concept to mean insurrection, and not
political assassination. On 3 December 1876, Malatesta wrote in the bulletin
201
202
Ulrich Linse
203
that was to overshadow the failure of anarchism and 'propaganda by deed' for
the next hundred years from the idea of armed insurrection of the Italian
Bakunists to individual acts of terrorism against the representatives of the
state and the leading classes, we must look for changes in circumstances. In an
ironic twist, the basis for the adoption of'dynamite terrorism' in London was
not to be found in any tradition of anarchism, but in the powerful impression
the successful assassination ofCsar Alexander II by Russian Nihilists had left
on Europe. Individual acts of terrorism became the new revolutionary hope
for anarchists. The international dissemination of this form of 'propaganda
by deed' shows that the reasons for this shift in emphasis were not to be found
in national peculiarities (even less so in individual biographies!) but has to be
viewed in a larger context.
Bakunin- representative of a mystic and apocalyptic revolutionarism,
conspirator and professional revolutionary- died in 1876 without his life's
objective - the social revolution in Europe - having been achieved. Spending
the last phase of his life in the Tessin (1869-76), 5 a period that coincided with
his retreat from the propaganda centres of the Russian Exiles in Geneva and
Zurich, his mood wavered between resignation and renewed faint hopes of
revolution. In 1869, Bakunin left Geneva, apparently in search of a quieter
and cheaper place to live, free of police harrassment and for the sake of his
expectant wife. In 1870, he temporarily returned to Geneva hoping for the
outbreak of a social revolution in France, and even in Europe as a whole, in
the wake of the French defeat in the Franco-Prussian war. Aged fifty-six, he
travelled to Lyon to lead the commune that had been proclaimed in the
aftermath of the French defeat at Sedan and 'to perhaps wage his final
gamble'. The armed anarchist insurrection in Lyon failed, and Bakunin had to
flee. His plans for the 'Committee to Save France' had thereby collapsed, and
he predicted that Prussian-Russian hegemony in Europe would lead to a longterm setback for revolutionary movements in Europe. And yet, when in 1873,
revolutionary hopes were raised in Spain, once again, pressurised by friends,
he decided to go there.
The republic, proclaimed in Spain in 1873, collapsed, just as preparations
for an anarchist insurrection amongst peasants in Andalusia also came to
nothing. In fact, Bakunin could not even raise the money for travel to
participate in these abortive actions. Friends then acquired the Villa Baronata
near Minusio-Locarno overlooking the Lago Maggiore, to serve as his
retirement home and a revolutionary centre. Bakunin declared publicly that
1M: would in future refrain from taking an active part in revolutionary politics.
But as serious conflicts arose over the enormous amounts of money used to
finance the rebuilding of the Villa Baronata and his financial situation was
nearing catastrophe, the Italian insurrections in 1874 once again fed new
hopes of a general revolution in him, and he decided to go to Bologna - the
predicted centre of the uprising- to make his final stand, to perish or triumph
there. Both the insurrections in Southern Italy and Bologna collapsed.
204
Ulrich Linse
Bakunin described the decisive hours during the night of 7 August 1874 in his
diary: 'Disappointment; a terrible night; pistol, two feet from death.' 6 He
planned his suicide for four o'clock next morning, but was dissuaded by
friends. Homeless, Bakunin, while taking flight once again, planned another
uprising in Florence which met a similar fate. This was Bakunin's last
revolutionary activity. The rest of his life he spent putting his private life in
order and securing a home for his family. In October 1874, he settled in
Lugano, physically and psychologically a broken man, spending most of his
time gardening. The revolutionary dream of 1848, which Bakunin had kept
alive until1874, had not just for him but also for the anarchist movement as a
whole come to an end.
This did not stop the Italians Cafiero and Malatesta from introducing the
idea of 'propaganda by deed' for the first time at the Berne Congress of the
Anarchist International in October 1876. Yet already the moderate attempteven without aspiring to the perspective of the Italian insurrections of 1874 as
an inspiration for a general uprising- to spread socialist propaganda amongst
the Italian peasantry through the uprising of Benevento failed miserably.
'Conspiracy ... cannot achieve social revolution',' Andrea Costa concluded. New ways to influence the masses had to be devised.
The Anarchist International only survived for a short period. It had grown
out of the ideologically divided First International in which first Marxism and
Proudhonism, and later Marxism and Bakunism had quarrelled bitterly. As a
prelude to its collapse, the Latin Federation had seceded at the Congress of
Chaux-de-Fonds in Aprill870, and, at the Hague Congress in September 1872,
the International split altogether. Formally, it was an argument over the
'dictatorship' of the General Council which non-Marxists opposed, refusing
to recognise the principle of authority in the International. In actual fact,
however, the expulsion of Bakunin and James Guillaume, only showed up the
deeper reasons why the International had been in the process of dissolving
ever since 1869: the Federations of the Italian speaking part of Switzerland,
Spain and Italy had opted for Bakunin, the Belgian and Italian Federations
were inclined that way. The opposition convened a counter-congress at SaintJunier in September 1872, rejected the decisions taken at The Hague and
refused to recognise the newly elected General Council: the Congress
proclaimed itself the legitimate representative of the International. This Saintlmier-International had been created by anarchists from the Swiss Jura,
Spain and Italy but it also included non-anarchist federations. It hence came
to be known as the anti-authoritarian International as distinct from the
strictly anarchist International of which, after the schism of the antiauthoritarian International of the Socialist World Congress at Gent in
September 1877, a mere torso had remained. From 1877 onwards, the
anarchist International disintegrated rapidly, and attempts to revive it at the
London Congress of 1881 proved fruitless. While in the years 1872 unti11877
Bakunin could count on stronger support than Marxists, this was no longer
205
the case after the collapse of the anarchist International. Political assassination therefore became an option at the very moment time when anarchism
had to abandon aH hope of influencing a wide mass of peasant and industrial
workers in Europe.
The collapse of the International also resulted in the disintegration of
national anarchist federations for similar reasons. These reasons were a
combination involving their opposition to any formal organisation and the
effects of increasing state persecution in the aftermath of the Paris Commune.
Until the First World War, there were to be no national federations in Spain,
Italy and France with anarchism having retreated to organise on a more local
or regional level. For legal reasons, there had been no German federation in
the International, only individual members. From 1900 onwards, the German
'Anarchist-Federation', with its local and regional federations, was organised,
benefiting from the SPD-like fetish for organisation of its members. Nevertheless it failed ever to rise above the status of a political sect.
Max Nettlau 8 and George Woodcock 9 have drawn attention to the fact that
the decline of Bakunism and the rise of Kropotkin did not merely constitute
an ideological shift in anarchism. Proudhon's mutualism and Bakunin's
collectivism, whereby a future society would reward the individual according
to how much work he had actually invested, was superseded by Kropotkin's
anarchist communism based on the principle of 'everyone according to his
needs'. This re-orientation, however, was accompanied by a new attitude
towards the question of organisation. In the tradition of the First
International, the collectivists had primarily thought to organise the working
masses, led, it is true, by an elite of firmly committed anarchists (often secretly
organised), without demanding the same kind of devotion from the mass of its
members. Anarchist communists in Italy, France and Spain, on the other hand,
felt it to be vital to organise in groups which exclusively consisted of zealous
anarchists, in word as well as in deed. Anarchism was closing itself off against
the masses because they had turned to social reformism, and furthermore the
danger of infiltration by police and agents provocateurs necessitated a closing
of ranks. Thus a hitherto formal organisation was replaced by the formation
of independent groups.
As a result of anarchist opposition to formal organisation after the 1870s,
decisions as to future actions were no longer taken by the representatives of
larger organisations, but -as anarchist assassinations show -were carried
out by fanatic individuals or small undercover groups. The collapse of earlier
organisations meant the loss of control over their members.
One of the main reasons for the wave of assassinations after the repression
of the Paris Commune was the harsh retaliation of European governments
against the insurrections of the Bakunist International. Anti-terrorist
measures were taken both on a national as well as international scale. Already
in 1871, on Bismarck's initiative, a conference of European governments had
outlined a common approach, and decided upon a European alliance against
206
Ulrich Linse
the International. England had refused to participate but separate GermanAustrian negotiations in 1872 considered legal as well as political measures to
oppose the International. This policy continued throughout the 1880s and
1890s with bilateral agreements amongst European states designed to stamp
out anarchism. There were also international agreements which in the past
had failed because of English and Swiss resistance, two countries which
traditionally had welcomed exiles. Germany was also highly critical of
American attitudes in this respect. 10 At the Rome Conference in 1898,
German, Russian, Austrian and Turkish pressure finally succeeded in forcing
the conference (against the opposition of France, Portugal, Sweden, Norway
and Switzerland; England was not even present) to adopt, amongst other
measures, the death penalty for assassins of heads of state. In the Secret
Petersburg Protocol of 1904 (not signed by Switzerland) further administrative details for the fight against anarchism were worked out. Ironically, these
policies came into existence after the wave of terrorist attacks in the 1880s and
1890s. Apparently, the government in Berlin hoped to continue to use the fight
against anarchism as a foreign policy instrument.
The violent repression of Bakunist insurrections in the 1870s by state
authorities had resulted in the wave of assassinations thereafter. The vicious
circle of assassination -police repression -assassination had brought the
anarchism of 'propaganda by deed' to the brink of self-destruction. Successive
terrorists sought to avenge their executed predecessors. 'Terrorism is
infectious', writes James Joll with some justification. 11 Political murder
became personal vendetta.
State resistance and the unholy alliance of anti-democratic monarchies had
brought about the failure of Bakunist insurrections and had reduced
anarchists to a sectarian minority; the majority of socialists had chosen the
legal and parliamentary paths to social reform. According to Nettlau,
Malatesta's first definition of 'propaganda by deed' in 1876 was already an
attempt to stem the tide of social reformism. As has been shown earlier, he
considered 'propaganda by deed' to be the only strategy that did not 'deceive'
or 'corrupt' the masses. This was his answer to a suggestion by anarchists from
Bari in October 1876 at the Italian anarchist meeting in Florence that, for
propaganda reasons, they should participate in elections. 12 Italy also
provided a powerful example of the attractiveness ofparliamentarianism even
amongst anarchist circles: Andrea Costa had originally been one of the most
fervent supporters of the politics of insurrection, and, next to Malatesta and
Cafiero, the leading Italian anarchist. But already in 1877, he had tried to
persuade the latter to desist from the planned uprising at Benevento because
he thought social revolution only possible through the organisation of the
masses and not through political conspiracies. Costa's high-flying activism in
the years 1871 to 1878 had apparently been inspired by hopes of quick
revolutionary success. These hopes were crushed, and, while still in prison in
1879, he denounced anarchism and voiced his support in favour of political
207
208
Ulrich Linse
amongst the European intelligentsia and artists at the end of the 1880s until
1900. Hobsbawm suggests that the artists of the time were also declining
artisans. Bohemian anarchism hallowed the heroic deeds of the assassins
because- as they saw it- both devoted themselves to an elitist cult of the ego,
influenced, in the latter case, by Max Stirner and Nietzsche. The bohemian
rebel, struggling against the authoritarian state and the self-satisfied
bourgeoisie, was drawn to the lonely terrorist. Political and aesthetic revolt
seemed to coincide. Bohemian anarchism by the sons of the bourgeoisie,
inspired by youthful revulsion against society, resulted in a messianic cult of
the 'Super Man', a glorification of the criminal and a fascination with
conspirators and terrorists: 'The totally subjective agression of terrorists
impressed by its stark contrast to the "golden mean of society".' 15 And yet,
while these bohemians were eulogising violence, they refused to participate
actively themselves.
It is important, however, to point out that there was also opposition to this
literary lauding of anarchist murders and bomb throwers 16 amongst the
anarchist intelligentsia. While in Germany for example, Erich Miihsam was
rejoicing in violence, 17 his paternal friend, Gustav Landauer denounced this
form of 'propaganda by the deed'. Its aim should be the intellectual renewal of
man creating the conditions for the regeneration of society: 'This is how I
understand "propaganda by deed", everything else is passions run wild,
desperation and total madness. It is not the aim to kill human beings but to
bring about the rebirth of mankind .... ' 18
'Propaganda by deed' indicated the end of older forms of anarchism.
Meanwhile, in the hour of its final decline, its total destructiveness was hailed
by this new bohemian anarchism. This politics of terror, however, delivered
the final kiss of death to old-style anarchism because it subjected the
movement to relentless state persecution, and alienated the working masses.
In this situation, the ideals of anarchism vanished into meaningless utopia.
The revolutionary destruction of the state had failed; it was time to retreat
from politics and society. The hopes of revolutionising the political and socioeconomic status quo gave way to feelings of resignation, and vague desires for
cultural and intellectual revolutionary change. Rural communes and antiauthoritarian schools were the new starting point for creating an alternative
subcultural milieu. With some justification, the German anarchist leader
Rudolf Lange could argue that anarchism would only regain contact with the
masses if it participated in parliamentary politics. Anarchist social
democracy, however, found no support. 19 Only libertarian syndicalist
anarchism- in a new form- would once again provide the chance to seek
mass working-class support.
In the 1880s and the beginning of the 1890s, anarchism was primarily
characterised by acts of political assassination. Dividing anarchist activities
periodically will bring out certain national differences and variations: in
France, anarchist assassinations were concentrated in the years 1892 to 1894,
209
210
Ulrich Linse
211
212
Ulrich Linse
present author attributes less importance to these acts for the anarchist
movement and instead prefers to stress other forms of illegal activity,
including the smuggling of censored newspapers and the formation of secret
reading and discussion groups. For the majority of anarchists, even during the
high point of anarchist attacks, were not involved in either the planning or
carrying out of political assassinat~ons; they were at the most 'sympathisers'.
If it had been the intention of anarchist assassins to signal the outbreak of
the revolution through their symbolic attacks against political institutions,
their activities can only be judged a complete failure. Not a single prominent
representative of the state - unlike in other countries - was killed in Germany.
There were a few minor successes amongst the lower ranks of the bureaucracy.
Only terrorist attacks against private individuals and their property showed
any kind of results at all. And because there was no spectacular political
success, worse, innocent people were affected, the propaganda value of these
acts was negligible, or, was in fact counterproductive.
Furthermore, the resources of state repression and counter-violence proved
enormous; the Prussian police headquarters in Berlin kept a file on every
known anarchist. Despite the anti-socialist legislation, the working class
continued to be represented in Parliament, and the very fact that social
democracy was not subject to open and direct persecution made the task of the
anarchists even more difficult. In addition, there was no effective tradition of
anti-state opposition in Germany. The 'enemies of the Empire', like Great
Germans, particularist and dynastic patriots and Catholics, were not opposed
to the political system as such. Finally the anarchists did not succeed - as they
were to attempt during the November revolution in 1918/19 in Bavaria- in
exploiting particularist and regionalist tendencies in Southern Germany
because the idea of national unity, as enacted by the federalist constitution of
the German Empire, had succeeded on all accounts. These were the reasons
for the relegation of organised anarchism to a political quantile negligeable.
Anarchist terrorism was a mere bogey which the government used to frighten
the bourgeois National Liberals, inducing them to abandon their liberal
ideals, and ensure the prolongation of anti-socialist legislation. While
organised anarchism was politically insignificant, anarchist subculture in
Wilhelmine Germany (cf. the Stirner renaissance of the 1890s), 38 as an
expression of bourgeois intellectual opposition to the state, has to be taken far
more seriously.
II
The concept of 'direct action' embraces anarcho-syndicalist violent and nonviolent forms of struggle. Its principles were outlined in the statement of
the founding congress of the syndicalist International in Berlin in December
1922:
213
214
Ulrich Linse
215
aims as an end in itself. Woodcock points out that even anarchist leaders
learned 'to compromise deeply with the actualities of a pre-anarchist world'. 44
A hard core of syndicalists (once again Bakunin's idea of a revolutionary elite
appeared in anarcho-syndicalist theory) 45 had to oppose the merely shortterm aims of its supporters and instead point to the ultimate revolutionary
goal, the revolutionary general strike. Roller wrote:
'Direct action is not confined to achieving improvements for the working
class here and now. Its aim is the destruction of capitalist society, and the
organisation of a free society.... General strike and expropriation are the
ultimate realization and climax of direct action by the working class.' 46
Already here, the general strike was seen as a signal for revolution. It had
attained the status of a social myth, a theme which was to be developed further
by Sorel in his Reflections sur Ia Violence.
The consequences of political assassinations had been far more devastating
for the anarchists themselves than for the society they had been directed
against. The politics of terror led to co-ordinated efforts on the part of the
states that had been affected in tracking down anarchists. The anarchist
movement was forced to go underground and resort to clandestine activities.
Many of their best supporters wasted away in prisons, and the remaining
anarchist groups found themselves isolated from the working masses.
Anarchism had 'barricaded itself off from reality'. 47
This situation led Fernand Pelloutier to conclude in 1895: 48 'I know many
workers who are disenchanted with parliamentary socialism but who hesitate
to support libertarian socialism because, in their view, anarchism simply
implies the individualistic use of the bomb.' It was indeed true that many
workers idolised the assassin Francois-Claudius Ravachol, and, as Rocker
recorded in his memoires, the ribald song 'La Ravachole' with the memorable
refrain 'Vive le son/de l'explosion!' became one of the most popular mass
songs in Paris after Ravachol's execution in 1892. 49 'But none of them would
in fact dare to pronounce himself an anarchist. He does not wish to give the
impression that he has abandoned collective revolt in favour of individual
revolt.' Pelloutier argued that anarchism could and should 'disregard the
individualistic use of the bomb ... if [its teachings] are to find any support'.
'Direct action' of anarcho-syndicalism was not an alternative to terrorism;
it was merely its continuation in a different form. Thus Pierre Monatte
declared at the International Anarchist Congress in Amsterdam in 1907 that
in 'direct action' 'the spirit of revolution is revived and regenerated through its
contact with syndicalism. And for the first time, since the mighty sound of
anarchist bombs had died away, the bourgeoisie is gripped by fear.' 5 Roller
emphasised the continuity between violence against persons and violence
against property even more strongly: 'direct action' operates both through
'economic' and 'social' terror. The former he defined as a 'terrorist rev-
216
Ulrich Linse
217
International claiming that even when the International was dissolved he had
refused to enter 'the ivory tower of speculations'; in fact, he had always tried to
fight 'this arrogant mentality of sectarianism'. He argued that anarchists
should be active in trade unions because the working class movement was
indeed 'a meeting place between the masses and us'. But the true anarchist
could never accept the general strike as the only means of struggle. He
conceded that the general strike might indeed be a most effective means in the
initiation of revolution. 'But', Malatesta warned his audience, 'we must be
aware of the fateful illusion that the general strike has made armed
insurrection obsolete.' The point was well taken because there were obvious
weaknesses in the idea of the general strike as developed by Pelloutier. He had
indeed expected miracles from a decentralised revolutionary strike in bringing
down capitalism and its armies. Malatesta countered that the general strike
was 'pure utopia' and 'nonsense'. For, once production has stopped, the first
people to face starvation would not be the bourgeoisie, but the workers, and it
would force them to give in. Defeat could only be averted if the workeragainst predictable resistance from police forces- would, through force, take
possession of the products: 'The moment of insurrection has arrived, and the
stronger will carry the day. Let us therefore prepare for this inevitable
uprising, instead of relying solely on the general strike as the ultimate answer
to all our misery.'
I cannot agree with James Joll who argues that Monatte's tactic proved to
be more effective than Malatesta's. 56 Malatesta himself was able to show that
it was not only in theory realistically possible to guide strikes into armed
insurrection (the revolutionary events in 1917/18 also support this view): I am
referring to the 'Red Week' of Ancona in June 1914, one of the most
important revolutionary events in Europe during the syndicalist phase of
anarchism. Malatesta played a leading role during the 'Red Week', and later
emphasised 57 that this had been a 'strike with a tendency towards
insurrection'; and yet, at the very moment, when 'the revolution began to
grow', the withdrawal of moderate trade unions led to defeat.
Experiences like these help to explain why the anarcho-syndicalist International refused to adhere to the general strike as the only means of struggle in
its policy statement in 1922: 'Direct action finds its ultimate realization in the
general strike. The general strike must also, at the same time, be the beginning
of social revolution thus assuring victory in the tradition of revolutionary
syndicalism.' 58 This formula vindicated Malatesta's opposition to equating
the general strike with revolution. The old idea of insurrection was at least
indirectly integrated into the concept of'direct action'. For, Malatesta himself
had already put forward the following motion at the Amsterdam Anarchist
Congress:
Anarchists regard trade unionism and the general strike as the most
effective means of revolution but not as a substitute for
218
Ulrich Linse
Arnold Roller 62 argued that one of the reasons for the importance of'direct
action' was the failure of peaceful wage struggles. In his case, the miners' strike
in the Rhineland in 1905 assumed particular importance, but there were many
other examples too. He also referred to the failure of the fight for the eighthour day, a demand that in Germany was only fulfilled with the November
Revolution of 1918. In criticising the policy of social democrats and trade
unions during the abortive Ruhr strike in 1905, he expressed his fear that
the reformism of the trade union movement- he called it a 'strike of
resignation' - could only mean the abandonment of social revolution
altogether. Indeed, it could be argued that the very integration of the workers
into the present political and economic system led to a policy of peaceful wage
struggles. Furthermore, the ideal of revolution was being undermined by a
fetish for organisation and bureaucracy. Trade unions should not just feed
their bureaucrats but should uphold the old revolutionary spirit for heroic
actions. The defeats of workers' movements were largely due to a spirit of
legality and obedience. 'Peaceful strikes exhaust the energies of the strikers;
their confidence, their personal courage and initiative are stamped out as they
rely on their leaders, on arbitrators, on parliaments, and, in particular, on
financial contributions.'
While the 'negative integration' of the working class into state and society
was correctly analysed, he listed further reasons why peaceful strikes would
only have a limited chance of success: in an economy where small manufacturers and artisans were competing against each other the peaceful refusal
to work actually made sense because strike action threatened their very
existence and forced them to give in. This weapon had been blunted since
businesses were now more concentrated, organised in employers' organisations and supported each other with the aim of ensuring continuing
219
220
Ulrich Linse
expel their Berlin deputy and leader of the health insurance campaign, Raphael
Friede berg, 68 from the party in 1907 because he had supported syndicalism in
a pamphlet entitled Par/iamentarianism and General Strike. More positive
steps followed: Bebel formulated the slogan 'political mass strike' at the SPD
Party Conference in Jena in 1904. The Jena and Mannheim party conference,
two years later in 1906, both showed that this new tactical slogan was designed
to undermine the syndicalist call for a general strike. The 'political mass strike'
was not conceived as a revolutionary alternative to parliamentary battles, but,
nevertheless, as an extra-parliamentary if peaceful safety net to parliamentary
work itself just in case the right to vote or form parties would ever be
suspended. 69 This strike was a defensive rather than an offensive measure.
To avoid all confusion, the International Anarchist Congress at Amsterdam in 1907 expressly denounced the 'political mass strike' once again, which,
according to Monatte's motion, was nothing 'but the attempt of politicians to
deflect the general strike from its economic and revolutionary goal'. 70 And yet
it soon became clear that the radical Marxists in the German social democracy
followed the concept of'the political mass strike' very closely, and adopted it
as their means of revolutionary struggle.
This particular form of political struggle, untamed by parliamentary
procedure, its effectiveness proven by the Russian Revolution of 1917, was so
attractive that in the end syndicalists did finally fall prey to the communist
party idea which so far they had opposed as vigorously as party socialism. For
the syndicalists had always maintained that a minority should inspire and lead
the masses, and after the war it seemed as if the communist party could just be
that 'leading minority': 'It was the point at which revolutionary syndicalism,
in its enthusiasm for the Russian Revolution, committed suicide.' 71
In autumn 1920, the workers of Milan's steel factories created a new form of
'direct action'. Rudolf Rocker described it in his memoires:
The incident had arisen because the employers' organisation had decided to
lock out its workforce in order to nullify the concessions the workers had
forced upon them .... The workers, however, simply turned the tables on
them and occupied the factories in August and September 1920 so that they
themselves could continue production without their employers. In order to
prevent police and troops from forcefully expelling them, they dug trenches,
armed with machine guns, around their factories, converting them into
quasi-fortresses. The new strategy of this powerful movement wl,lich also
spread to other industries echoed throughout the workers' movements of
many countries. 72
The origins of this tactic are not clear. Daniel Guerin has argued 73 that
Italian left-wing socialists and anarchists followed the Russian revolutionary
ideal and that the actions of steel workers in northern Italy imitated the Soviet
model. In February 1920, the Italian workers had forced the employers to
221
222
Ulrich Linse
223
on the great Ruhr strikes of 1919 and 1920. Rocker was able to state with some
justification that the impact of syndicalism 'went far beyond just their sheer
number, especially in the mining and steel industry of the Rhineland where in
many places they played a leading role in the general strike of these years'. 86
Syndicalists were involved in the local Ruhr miners' strikes in December
1918, 87 as well as in the two great general strikes in February and April1919,
and they represented, in alliance with Communists and Independent
Socialists, the radical wing of the movement. 88 Syndicalists fought against
invading troops and helped with the management of mining companies.
Syndicalists wanted to occupy their mines, run them and distribute the profits
amongst themselves, inspired by the slogan 'The mines are ours'. 89 After the
violent repression ofthe four-week general miners' strike in April1919, many
miners left their old trade unions, and thousands flocked to join syndicalism in
the second half of 1919.
In December 1919, the Free Workers' Trade Union (of Germany) was
founded. Its programme, written by Rocker, 90 proclaimed 'direct action' and
'general strike' as its principles, even though these German syndicalists
refrained from propagating the destruction of the means of production. 91
Each local organisation independently determined the beginning and end of
their strikes. As a result of the decentralised nature of their organisation, the
local branches had to rely on their own strike funds. Hence their influence
remained limited in comparison with large trade-union and employers'
organisations, and independent strike action was quite impossible. They were
forced to confine 'the deployment of their forces in spontaneous mass strikes
and in the wage struggles decided upon by the general trade union council'. 9 2
The potential impact of'direct action' on the insurrections of1920 and 1921
in the Ruhr and in central Germany was never fully realised because Rocker,
while being in favour of the general economic strike, was opposed to armed
uprisings. This was not only due to his idealistic pacifism but based on his
belief- similar to Friedrich Engels before him -that there were
practical difficulties: 'With the present state of military techniques, the time of
old-style political revolution, where armed civilians fought the army, has
passed for ever. The superiority of military leadership and their techniques
will always ensure their victory,' Rocker concluded after the January battles
of 1919. 93 It was for this reason that the leadership of the German Free
Workers Trade Union- in 'any case opposed to the left-wing alliance of
syndicalists and communists - condemned the battles in the Ruhr in March
1920, even though the syndicalists, in relation to the strength of their
membership, provided the largest number in the 'Red Army' of the Ruhr. As
late as 1920, Augustin Souchy had expressed the hope that in a new revolution
the syndicalists in the Ruhr would be powerful enough to initiate the take-over
of factories by workers. 94 Rocker, however, believed that the failure of the
Ruhr rising in 1920 had vindicated his warning 'that armed action was
incapable of defeating the military'. 95
224
Ulrich Linse
In 1923, the leaders of the Free Workers Trade Union proclaimed a general
strike but in the face of shrinking membership this remained a fruitless
gesture. The goal Rocker had envisaged for German syndicalism in 1919 to
'conquer workplace and factory' 96 remained unattainable.
Rocker had not conceived German syndicalism as a political force but,
following Gustav Landauer, as a cultural movement aimed at the 'spiritual
enlightenment of the masses'. 97 In reality, however, it had merely been a
'campaigning political sect'. 98 Rocker himself had to admit in retrospect that
German syndicalism 'never did realise its practical aim which we had hoped it
would fulfill'. Even at the best of times it was incapable of 'acting
independently on a grand scale'. 99 Its main achievement had been the
publication and distribution of 'libertarian literature' in its effort to
enlighten. 100
Once the revolutionary wave of the immediate post-war period had died
down, resignation spread. Even the chances of success for 'direct action'
seemed slim. In 1929, for example, the International, organ of the syndicalist
International, published an article which underlined this development. 101 The
author, U. Rath, apologised for the fact that his suggestions were 'devoid of
revolutionary fervour' or 'a rousing call for personal courage and sacrifice'
but were 'directed at a quite different set of intellectual qualities of the working
class'. For in these times of economic crises, the worker was required not to be
just a 'soldier' but also a 'thinker'. He was to be the 'official receiver of
bourgeois society', and this would be a most 'prosaic task'. So far anarchism
and anarcho-syndicalism had rejoiced in heroic action be it conspiracy,
terrorism, insurrection or revolutionary strike; Rath proceeded to suggest a
new path for 'direct action': continuing the tradition of co-operatives, workers
should buy up bankrupt factories from capitalists in order to initiate, here and
now, the socialist experiment. This would enable the worker 'to learn and
practice the workings of economics at first hand', and thus acquire knowledge
so vital for social revolution.
Helmut Rudiger remarked in the editorial introduction that Rath's ideas'who is an outsider in our movement in any case' - were indeed 'new to the
anti-authoritarian movement'. He pointed out that a factory, still functioning
within the capitalist economy, could hardly be called 'socialist', and yet Rath's
suggestion that socialism after the revolution was impossible 'without
knowledge of the workings of production and management', should be taken
to heart: 'The working class must gain experience in the running of factories,
and must cease to be merely the object of the capitalist economy.'
A critical reader 102 at the time commented ironically that Rath's idea did
indeed have a distinct attraction 'doing away with social revolution, the
revolutionary general strikes and similar means, because they demand
sacrifice and commitment from the masses and are therefore unpopular, and
replacing it with economic measures which require no sacrifices leading
225
I.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
For the history of the term anarchism see W. Laqueur, Terrorism (London,
1977) p.
M. Nettlau, Die revolution-oren Aktionen des italienischen Proletariats und die
Rolle Errico Ma/atestas (reprinted Berlin, 1973) p. 66f.
E. Oberlander (ed.), Der Anarchismus ( = Dokumente der We1trevo1ution, vol.
4) (Oiten und Freiburg im Breisgau, 1972) p. 231f.
A. R. Carlson, Anarchism in Germany: The Early Movement, (Diss. Michigan
State University, 1970) p. 367.
R. Broggini, 'Anarchie und Befreiungsbewegungen urn 1870 in der Gegend von
Locarno' in H. Szeemann (ed.), Monte Verita (Milan, 1978); also H. Bienek,
Bakunin, eine Invention (Munich, 1970) p. 46f.
Nettlau, Malatesta, p. 53.
J. Joll, The Anarchists,'2nd edn. (London, 1977) p. 105.
Nettlau, Malatesta, p. 64tf.
G. Woodcock, Anarchism (London, 1962) p. 345f.
Cf. the official document: Sozialismus und Anarchismus in Europa und Nordamerika wiihrend der Jahre 1883 bis 1886 (Berlin, 1887; reprinted 1974).
Joll, p. 111.
Nettlau, Malatesta, p. 67.
Ibid., p. 91f.
226
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
Ulrich Linse
P. Losche, Anarchismus (Darmstadt, 1977) p. 3lf.
H. Kreuzer, Die Boheme (Stuttgart, 1968) p. 309.
For an example see Kreuzer, p. 307fT.; Woodcock, p. 285fT.
E. Miihsam, Ascona (Locarno, 1905); id., 'Terror'; Polis 1/10 (1.9. 1907)
pp. 160-2.
G. Landauer, 'Der Anarchismus in Deutschland', Die Zukunft 10 (1895) now in
G. Landauer, Erkenntnis und Befreiung (Frankfurt/Main, 1976) p. 13.
U. Linse, Organisierter Anarchismus im Deutschen Kaiser reich von 1871 (Berlin,
1969) p. 378f.
J. Maitron, 'Die Ara der Attentate' in W. Laqueur (ed.), Zeugnisse politischer
Gewa/t. Dokumente zur Geschichte des Terrorismus (KronbergfTs, 1978)
pp. 79-82.
Carlson, p. 249fT.
Linse, Organisierter Anarchismus, p. 162; G. Botz et a/., Im Schatten der
Arbeiterbewegung: Zur Geschichte des Anarchismus in Osterreich und Deutschland (Vienna, 1977) p. 47.
Linse, 'Anarcho-syndikalistische Landarbeiteragitation in Deutschland ( 19101933): Uber die soziale Kluft zwischen Stadt- und Landproletariat' in
S. Blankertz (ed.), Aufdem Misthaufen der Geschichte, No. l (MiinsterfWetzlar,
1978).
R. Rocker, Johann Most, Das Leben eines Rebel/en (Berlin, 1924) p. 14.
Carlson, pp. 428 and 455.
'Le Federalisme-Anarchiste dans l'Allemagne du Sud', Le Revolte, Organe
socialiste, 11/7 ( 1880).
M. Nettlau, Anarchisten und Sozia/revolutioniire der Jahre 1880-1886 (Berlin,
l93l)p.l46.
Ibid., p. 163.
J. Peukert, Erinnerungen eines Proletariers aus der revolutioniiren Arbeiterbewegung (Berlin, 1913) p. 201 describes August Reinsdorf's actions in this way.
E. Miiller, Bericht Uher die Untersuchungen betreffend die anarchistischen
Umtriebe in der Schweiz an den hohen Bundesrath der schweizerischen Eidgenossenschaft (Bern, 1885) p. 176.
J. Langhard, Die anarchistische Bewegung in der Schweiz von ihren Anfiingen bis
zur Gegenwart und die internationalen Fuhrer (Berlin, 1908) p. 258.
Botz et a/., p. 32f.
Rocker, Most, p. 189.
Ibid., p. 189 footnote.
See also H. Karasek, 'Amerika oder die deutschen Gastarbeiter greifen zur
Bombe' in id., Propaganda und Tat: Drei Abhandlungen Uher den militanten
Anarchismus unter dem Sozialistengesetz (Frankfurt/Main, n.d.).
Botz eta/., p. 169f.
Linse, 'Die Anarchisten und die Miinchner Novemberrevolution' in K. Bosl
(ed.), Bayern im Umbruch: Die Revolution von 1918, ihre Voraussetzungen, ihr
Verlauf und ihre Folgen (Munich and Vienna, 1969) pp. 37-73; Linse (ed.),
Gustav Landauer und die Revolutionszeit 1918/19 (Berlin, 1974); E. Lunn,
Prophet of Community: The Romantic Socialism of Gustav Landauer (Berkeley,
1973) pp. 291fT.
M.G. Helms, Die Jdeologie der anonymen Gesellschaft: Max Stirners 'Einziger'
und der Fortschritt des demokratischen Se/bstbewusstseins vom Vormiirz bis zur
Bundesrepublik (Cologne, 1966) p. 295fT.
Quoted from the 2nd International Workers' Association, Amsterdam, March
1925, in: Die Internationale, Organ der lnternationalen Arbeiter-Assoziation,
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
59.
60.
61.
62.
63.
64.
65.
66.
67.
68.
69.
70.
71.
72.
73.
74.
75.
76.
77.
227
228
78.
79.
80.
81.
82.
83.
84.
85.
86.
87.
88.
89.
90.
91.
92.
93.
94.
95.
96.
97.
98.
99.
100.
101.
102.
103.
104.
105.
106.
Ulrich Linse
(Giashiitten im Taunus, 1974) pp. 42fT. and 173fT.
K. Tenfelde, 'Linksradikale Stromungen in der Bergarbeiterschaft an der Ruhr
1905 his 1919' in H. Mommsen and U. Borsdorf (eds), Gluck auf, Kameraden!
Die Bergarbeiter und ihre Organisationen in Deutschland (Cologne, 1979) p. 223.
Ibid., p. 203.
H. M. Bock, Syndikalismus und Linkskommunismus von 1918-1923 (Meisenheim am Glan, 1969) pp. 134, 138.
For the following: Linse, 'Lebensformen der biirgerlichen und der proletarischen Jugendbewegung: Die Aufbriiche der Jugend und die Krise der
Erwachsenenwelt', Jahrbuch des Archivs der deutschen Jugendbewegung, vol. 10
(Burg Ludwigstein, 1978) pp. 24-55; id., Die anarchistische und anarchosyndikalistische Jugendbewegung 1919-1933 ( = Quellen und Beitrage zur
Geschichte der Jugendbewegung, vol. 18) (Frankfurt a. M., 1976) id., (ed.),
Ernst Friedrich zum 10: Todestag ( = europaische ideen, vol. 29) (Berlin, 1977).
Tenfelde, p. 221.
Bock, p. 82.
Ibid., p. 118.
Ibid., p. 120.
Rocker, Memoiren, p. 300.
Bock, p. ll9.
P. von Oertzen, 'Die grossen Streiks der Ruhrhergarbeiterschaft im Friihjahr
1919', Vierteljahresheftefur Zeitgeschichte 6 (1958) pp. 243-5; Bock, p. 120f.
Oertzen, p. 255 with footnote 101.
Cited in Bock, p. 363fT.
Ibid., p. 164, footnote 52.
Ibid., p. 164f.
Keine Kriegswaffen mehr! Speech by comrade Rocker (Berlin), on the occasion
of the National Conference of the German armament workers, held in Erfurt
from 18-22 March 1919, Erfurt (1919) p. 11f.
Bock, p. 292.
In Der Syndikalist, 11/16 (1920) quoted from Bock, p. 292f.
Keine Kriegswaffen mehr!, p. 5.
Ibid., p. 12.
Bock, p. 169.
R. Rocker, Zur Betrachtung der Lage in Deutschland. Die Moglichkeiten einer
freiheitlichen Bewegung (New York-London-Stockholm, 1947) p. 10.
Rocker, Memoiren, p. 303.
U. Rath, 'Direkte Aktion?' Die Internationale (see footnote 40), 11/10 (August
1929) pp. 14-20.
H. W. Gerhard, 'Direkte Aktion? Zu dem Artikel von U. Rath', ibid., 11/10
(September 1929) pp. 7-9.
H. Beckmann, 'Die Obemahme der Produktionsmittel durch die Arbeiter',
ibid., 11/11 (September 1929) pp. 10-12; 11/12 (October 1929) pp. 16-18.
A. Souchy, 'Vorsicht: Anarchist!' Ein Lebenfiir die Freiheit. Politische Erinnerungen (Darmstadt-Neuwied, 1977) p. 261.
R. Rocker, 'Revolutionsmythologie und revolutionare Wirklichkeit', Diefreie
Gesel/schaft, Monatsschriftfor Gesel/schaftskritik undfreiheitlichen Sozialismus,
IV /36-7 (November 1952); Souchy, Erinnerungen, p. 259fT.
Cf. Losche, p. 148: 'The old anarchist slogan of"propaganda by the deed" has a
new meaning to the pragmatic anarchists, and becomes "propaganda through
the deed": these include all forms of civil disobedience and living an exemplary
communal life. Thus "direct action" becomes "a theory and practice striving to
229
231
232
F. F. Ridley
taking the latter at face value makes for bad labour history, it may not be
entirely unreasonable at first sight for the historian of political thought. Union
declarations and articles by union leaders can be taken at their face value to
construct a theory of syndicalism without the political theorist worrying too
much about the representative character of his sources.
Even for the political theorist, however, there is a serious problem of the
relationship between theory and practice in the case of syndicalism. Syndicalism was often called a 'philosophy of action' by its exponents. This meant
more than that they advocated action, central though this was. They used the
phrase to describe the nature of syndicalism itself, though in an ambiguous
way. They often stressed the spontaneity of syndicalism: it was not a matter of
'think first, act later' but of 'act first'. Sometimes this only meant that
syndicalism was supposed to be an interpretation c/airvoyante of worki~
class action, itself intuitive: principles were drawn from the lessons of life
rather than ivory-tower speculation and centred on strategies of action rather
than the solution of theoretical problems. Sometimes they went further,
claiming that syndicalism was action itself, what the workers did, deeds not
words. Syndicalist workers, so the argument runs, need not consciously
subscribe to the doctrines of revolutionary syndicalism at all. The writings of
militant syndicalists, even if they claim to do no more than make explicit the
experience of the movement, can then be thought of as 'meta-syndicalism' and
it is the action of workers that needs to be considered if one is to study the
essence of syndicalism. If that is true (though it does not seem a very
satisfactory way of defining any 'ism'), it places the study of the subject back
even more firmly in the field of the historian. Recent labour historians have
certainly looked at it this way. Claiming to find nothing very distinctive about
the activities of the French labour movement during the period, either in the
number of strikes or in their character, they have argued that syndicalism
never existed at all. But, again, the situation is more complicated because the
theorists of syndicalism maintained that action has a subjective as well as an
objective aspect: what mattered was not so much what the workers did but the
way they did it. I do not mean here whether their strikes were more violent
than other strikes (that claim of the time has also be undermined by recent
historians) but how they perceived their action. The syndicalist worker did not
articulate a philosophy, he felt it. It is hard to see how the historian can test
this.
For the moment I want to put together- briefly and somewhat selectively,
picking out the ideas that are particularly relevant to the doctrine of direct
action through strike- the theory of syndicalism as found in the writing of its
leaders. I shall return to the obvious questions. First, did it correspond to the
ideas of the movement, or at least its rank-and-file militants? While certainly
not articulating such ideas in a systematic way, the militants probably had
some sort of picture in their mind into which, at least as slogans, they probably
fitted quite well. Second, did it correspond to the practice of the movement?
233
As in many other movements, the Christian churches for example, there does
seem to have been a considerable gap between apparent belief and practice:
syndicalism was later described by one of its own leaders as having been little
more than verbalisme revolutionnaire.
At the root of syndicalist theory lay the idea of the class war. Though the
terminology was marxist, the concept was reduced to a simple slogan and
taken as a fact experienced every day by workers, requiring no theoretical
foundation. No legislative reforms, no agreements with employers, could free
them from the double yoke of oppression and exploitation. Only complete
overthrow of the existing order, abolition of property and destruction of the
state, could emancipate the proletariat. Emancipation meant revolution and
syndicalism was essentially a strategy of revolution. The capitalist order
would be replaced by an anarchist society geared to the working class: the
'administration of things' would be undertaken by industrial unions and local
inter-union trades councils; without 'government of men', the state was
superfluous. In fact Utopia played almost as small a part in syndicalism as in
marxism although its outlines were a little clearer and, more important, it was
based on a harmony between means and ends.
Syndicalism made little of marxist theories about the automatic intensification of conflict, inevitable revolution and predestined victory of the
proletariat. It tended to see the class war as a war like any other: victory would
depend on the fighting spirit- elan- of the workers, on will not the forces of
history. Vouloir, c'est pouvoir was a favourite slogan. There were, however,
attempts to have it both ways. Syndicalists sometimes balanced free will by
historical forces, maintaining that workers' participation in the class struggle
was an 'intuitive' reaction to their circumstances and that strikes objectively
furthered the revolutionary cause even if, subjectively, strikers did not see
themselves as revolutionaries.
If the war was to be won, it must be fought; and if it was to be fought with
spirit, its existence must be constantly reaffirmed. As in any war, this meant an
absolute breach between the contestants. The proletariat must not only
oppose bourgeois interests at all points, it must isolate' itself from bourgeois
institutions and bourgeois state. In order that the division of society into
hostile camps might be seen clearly by all, any overlap between classes must be
prevented. Collaboration with socialist intellectuals only blurred the issue.
Moreover, as the basis of class war was the conflict of interest between
workers and employers, the support of middle-class socialists was likely to be
superficial: in practice they fraternised with the enemy and tended to
compromise with him; if allowed to influence the working-class movement,
they would divert it. To maintain its revolutionary spirit, in other words, the
movement must restrict itself to those bound by immediate ties of common
exploitation and organise itself entirely within the formations proper to its
own class. Syndicalism proclaimed itself proletarian.
Rejection of what the syndicalists called 'politics' followed from this.
234
F. F. Ridley
235
above. They rejected the revolution that was simple a coup d'etat,just another
form of political action, believing that the state would not wither away under a
marxist dictatorship of the proletariat. Just as parliament was the natural
form of government in a bourgeois society and dictatorship in a marxist, so
they believed that unions, horizontally and vertically federalised, were the
natural form of administration in the free society of the future.
The union therefore linked the present and the future. It organised the
worker in his everyday struggle against the employer, obtaining material
concessions of immediate value and preparing him for the revolution. Battle
formation, it was at the same time cell of the new order. This allowed
syndicalists to declare their movement self-sufficient. Every action that
reinforced the union, every action that strengthened its will and increased its
power, was at one and the same time a step towards the final revolution and a
brick built for the society to come. The seeds of destruction carried within
capitalism were also the seeds of construction: the final revolution would bring
no problems of transition.
The revolution could not be achieved through democratic political
channels, but only by the workers acting for themselves. This was the doctrine
of direct action. The syndicalists interpreted the formula that the emancipation of the proletariat must be the work of the proletariat itself literally: it
must be achieved by workers acting as workers (through unions not parties)
and it must be achieved without intermediaries (through direct action not
electoral politics). Direct 'political' action- insurrection- was not feasible,
however, because the class enemy controlled the powerful forces of the state.
Just as the union was the proper form of organisation for workers, so
industrial action was their proper sphere of action. The syndicalists advocated
various forms of industrial action such as boycott, sabotage and work to rule.
The strike, however, was direct economic action par excellence. It was the
clearest expression of the class war, placing the workers in an immediate
conflict with the employers and thus illuminating most sharply the antagonism between capital and labour. It was also the most effective weapon
available. It had the advantage of involving the immediate and inescapable
interests of the working class, mobilising energies that political issues failed to
sustain. It drew those lacking revolutionary consciousness into forms of
action that could be used for revolutionary ends by a militant leadership. Its
battle formations were ready made, requiring no fragile political organisations.
The strike had a double aspect, conveniently linking reformist and
revolutionary goals. Even if the workers were only pursuing some immediate
concession from the employer, such as a wage increase, it automatically
furthered the cause of revolution. If it was successful, the gain was a partial
expropriation of the capitalists and a weakening of the power of the
bourgeoisie. At the same time, every strike - whether successful or notincreased the hostility between the classes and thereby stimulated further
236
F. F. Ridley
237
that notions of the general strike, even hazier notions of the emancipation of
the workers, formed part of the stock of mental images of part of the working
class. Most of the time they were probably no more than hazy pictures at the
back of their minds but occasionally, at the height of battle, in the nation-wide
movements of strike and agitation or in particularly bitter local conflicts,
when the class war was seen most sharply, these pictures doubtless grew
brighter, suddenly giving a wider significance to their campaigns, perhaps
even acting as a morale booster pushing such movements further than they
would otherwise have gone. On several occasions, certainly, there was a
feeling, shared by workers and bourgeoisie, that revolution or something very
similar was about to occur. This article opened with reference to the strike
movements of 1906 and 1909. Despite the talk of militants, the workers
entered those strikes without any real revolutionary intent. The picture of
revolution may have been vivid enough- one gets the feeling that it was - but
that does not necessarily mean that revolutionary slogans were believed, much
less that anyone seriously intended to act them out.
Can the strikes of the period nevertheless be interpreted as direct action
wi.th the anti-democratic implications suggested above? Direct action was the
syndicalists' most popular slogan. But, again, it was something of a theoretical
construct. The practice of direct action was simply what the workers did.
Though a necessary part of their programme, syndicalists described it as
spontaneous, pursued, in other words, without reference to syndicalist
doctrines. Workers usually struck because of the pressure of economic
conditions. One must not fall into the trap of treating their activities as a
consequence of syndicalist theory, a trap that syndicalist theory itself, though
sometimes ambiguously, tried to avoid. The fact remains, however, that
interpretations of the strike as direct action seem to have had wide currency,
that a fair number of workers seem to have talked and thought in this way.
Whatever the reasons for their action, whatever its real character, it_could be
seen by participants as action outside the democratic process. In that sense the
secretary general of the CGT could describe it at its 1912 congress as
'permanent illegality'.
Strikes are part of the normal behaviour pattern of workers, not specifically
syndicalist. I have made the point that images may have attached to them in
the first decade of this century in France, even if they did not affect the strikers'
practice. One could refer to the revolutionary tradition of France, part of the
political culture into which succeeding generations were socialised. As one
historian of political thought put it: 'On the least provocation the French
visualised themselves as overturning something; there have perhaps been too
many pictures of revolutionary heroes storming the barricades. The
Marseillaise, with its call to arms, was in their blood.' In that tradition, images
of the strike were a substitute for the barricades. Such images fill a need: they
can be attached to action with no more than marginal influence upon it.
Another aspect of French culture has also been invoked. Thus a historian of
238
F. F. Ridley
the labour movement: 'For the French it was not sufficient to act under
necessity - the act had to be generalised into principle, the principle
systematised, and the system compressed into concise and catching formulae.'
These formulae had their place at mass meetings, filling a need, again, without
necessarily affecting action very much.
One may nevertheless ask whether syndicalism had a practical influence on
the trade-union movement during the period of its supposed hegemony. Were
there more strikes in France then than at other times, more strikes than in
other industrialised countries at the same time, more strikes than can be
satisfactorily explained by socio-economic conditions? Were unions that
voted syndicalist principles at national congresses more strike-prone than
reformist unions? Did strikes show characteristics that distinguished them in
any way? Were they more 'revolutionary', more violent for example, when
practiced by syndicalist unions than otherwise? Recent students have
answered these questions negatively and concluded that syndicalism did not
really exist. Before turning to these analysts, let me say a few words about the
strike record as it appeared to me. Workers certainly appeared strike-prone
during the period and there was a tendency to see strikes not as once-and-forall affairs, designed to achieve some particular concession that would satisfy
the workers, but as part of an ongoing conflict. The general hostility of the
CGT towards the whole idea of collective agreements was evidence of this.
There was little feeling that the settlement of a strike restored social peace,
even if it was to the workers' advantage. And if results were not obtained
quickly, the unions went back to work, ready to try again as soon as
circumstances permitted. Strikes were sometimes declared for quite trivial
reasons. As one commentator later noted, these short but frequent strikes kept
the working class in a state of alert. Employers and government also, one
might have added. Syndicalists were prone to attribute the strike record to the
growing combativeness of the working class, stimulated by the battles fought
and by their own efforts to raise workers' understanding of the struggle. There
were, however, other adequate explanations of the strike record. French
unions were too weak at the time to negotiate successfully with employers and
resorted to strikes in desperation. A policy of numerous short strikes was the
only one possible, given the unions' limited funds and their inability to pay
much in the way of strike benefits. The picture, in any case, is one now familiar
to us and we are less likely to resort to ideological explanations unless we also
attribute current strike waves in Britain to Trotskyite influence.
But what of the character of strikes? While reformist unions during the
period were often willing to negotiate with employers, even to accept
arbitration, syndicalist leaders called for direct action. This was an ambiguous
phrase, however. Any strike meant action rather than talk, the use of'force',
at least to the extent that strikes are inescapably an attempt to bring pressure
on the employers. In general, however, it meant more than that. One
commentator in 1907 saw the distinction between syndicalist and reformist
239
strikes in terms of the tactics employed rather than of the ends pursued. He
claimed that despite much talk of direct action, no new tactics had appeared
that could really intimidate employers or bourgeoisie except for the use of
violence: the only contribution of syndicalist theory to direct action, in other
words, was the principle of violence and the only distinguishing mark of
syndicalism in practice was its use.
He denied -and his view has been confirmed by recent studies -that
violence was often used by unions, thus implying that there were in fact few
distinctively syndicalist strikes. Violence, when it occurred, was no syndicalist
monopoly. It can break out spontaneously, without the inspiration of
syndicalist theory, as the Encyclopaedia of Social Sciences pointed out: 'It is
obvious that violence in the form of physical assault or destruction of property
may easily arise in the course of a strike, particularly if it be prolonged or if
bitter feeling is engendered'. That said, syndicalism gave it a theoretical
justification and its polemical writings cannot have been entirely without
influence.
Syndicalists, then, claimed that direct action distinguished the revolutionary strike from the passive -and legal -withdrawal of labour advocated by reformist unions. They tended to do so in military terms. The
unions were short of soldiers as well as material: only a small proportion of the
working class was unionised, so that a simple withdrawal oflabour was likely
to be ineffective even if, given their limited funds, it could be sustained for any
length of time. More drastic action is called for to intimidate the bourgeoisie
and thus wring concessions from it. In longer-term perspective, violence, by
sharpening the conflict, deepens the split between proletariat and the forces of
capitalism, including those of the state that come to its rescue, illuminates the
class war, strengthens the solidarity of the workers and their resolve to fight.
In the manner of Sorel, syndicalist leaders occasionally praised violence for
reasons more sophisticated than the simple fact that it might frighten
employers into surrender. By the deep feelings it aroused, the shock it
administered to both sides, violence helped to divide the classes: it was the
most effective antidote to reformist and democratic efforts at glossing over the
fundamental issues of the class war. Violence, moreover, was more like war
than a straightforward strike: it brought out the heroic qualities of the
proletariat and, in that sense, had an educative value.
In general, however, syndicalists developed no real justifactory theory of
violence, even when they advocated it, nor did they develop any original
tactics for its use. It would, of course, have been difficult to complicate so
simple an idea as the coup de poing. For the labour movement as a whole, in
any case, acts of violence were probably just acts of violence, not even part of
some unformulated picture of war in their minds. Sometimes stimulated by
agitators, they were more often neither premeditated nor even deliberate:
mounting bitterness as a result of continual disputes, personal hostility
towards individual employers, the frustration of weakness caused by lack of
240
F. F. Ridley
numbers and shortage of funds, fraying tempers and growing tension, the final
explosion often set otT by the introduction of blackleg labour or intervention
of the police. At such times, in such moods, the use of fists, stones, arson, even
dynamite, requires no special explanation.
Violence could take the form of destroying property of the employers. At
Marseille, for example, the dockers smashed cranes, fired warehouses and
destroyed goods, until the military commander of the area was forced to
declare a state of siege. At Brest they threw overboard the cargo of one ship
and emptied a number of warehouses in similar fashion, rolling fifty barrels of
wine into the sea. At Mazamet workers burnt down a textile mill and exploded
dynamite cartridges in several others. During the campaign for weekly-dayof-rest legislation, waiters, barbers and shop assistants smashed shop
windows and threw acid at shop fronts. While the hope in these cases may
have been to terrorise employers into surrender, frustration and revenge were
as likely motives. At Meru, for example, workers sacked an employer's home
as well as his factory and bricks were not infrequently thrown at employers'
houses. More frequent, perhaps, were attacks on blacklegs, probably for
similar reasons. Yet there may have been the occasional elements of anarchosyndicalist propaganda by the deed, doubtless rare and now hard to isolate.
One syndicalist, reminiscing fifty years later, said that the first thing he did on
joining the labour movement in 1902 was to re-edit an anarchist pamphlet on
the manufacture of bombs: whenever a strike appeared to be drawing out, one
of his friends would leave for the scene of action to blow out a few of the
employer's windows.
More often, violence involved assault on persons and attacks on property
outside the place of work, as when the linen weavers of Armentieres pillaged
shops. The majority of violent incidents, conflicts with the police for example,
had no direct connection with strikes at all, but demonstrations by strikers
could also lead to scuffies with the police and escalate into more serious
clashes. Whether brawl or riot, such incidents turned strikes into conflicts with
the forces of the state and served to underpin syndicalist notions about the
nature of the class war. In retrospect, the incidence of violence may not be
high, but critics at the time certainly spoke of 'revolutionary vandalism
masked as strikes' and of 'movements which degenerated from strike into
insurrection'. 'Direct action means violence' was a phrase that ran through
their accounts. The impressions of the time were coloured by a relatively small
number of dramatic conflicts where strikes escalated into riots and conflict
with the troops (e.g. at Monceau-les-Mines, Villeneuve-Saint-Georges,
Narbonne) and by an even smaller number of strikers in the public services
which involved cases of sabotage and seemed for brief periods as if they might
paralyse the country. The sporadic violence which occurred in other strikes
during the period did not add up to a tactic of direct action. On occasion,
nevertheless, they must have allowed workers to see themselves in a
241
242
F. F. Ridley
studies mentioned show that there was nothing about the pattern of strikes frequency, duration, size -which requires special explanation in terms of
syndicalist leadership or syndicalist beliefs. Although there was an increase in
strike activity during the period, it was matched by developments in other
industrialised countries. High unemployment and a decline in living standards
appear a reasonable explanation. The strike record of soi-disant syndicalist
unions, moreover, was not different from that of French unions with other
leadership.
The syndicalists, of course, never claimed that the strike rate was the most
significant fact in the short run. They were well aware that poor and poorly
organised unions, based on one trade in one town, could not mobilise workers
on a large scale or for any length of time. As the secretary general of the CGT
pointed out, it was the spirit that counted: syndicalist strikes were defined by
their revolutionary character. What external indicators there might be, the
manner in which strikes were settled, for example, or the use of direct action
(for which read violence), do not substantiate this claim. Little appeared
distinctive about syndicalist-led strikes: violence, for example, did not
primarily occur in strikes at all and, where associated with strikes, were found
as often in non-syndicalist unions. Violence, itself, moreover, could be
adequately explained by other factors such as natural frustration, anger
against blacklegs or clashes caused by the intervention of police.
There was another sense, however, in which syndicalist theorists might
clsim that their strikes were different in character from other strikes and this
would not necessarily have been mirrored in the behaviour of strikers at all.
For the revolutionary syndicalists -and this was the point Sorel picked up
and dramatised -each strike was seen as a battle in the class war, each strike
made the image of the general strike, the revolution itself, more vivid. The
point, then, is that even if syndicalist strikes did not differ from others
objectively, they may well have differed subjectively. It is hard to see what
quantitative data could be used to test this claim. How can one determine
what proportion of the population were genuine Christians at any given time
in the past? If church attendance does not distinguish the true believer from
the ritual attender, could one look at 'christian' behaviour in everyday life as
an indicator? Surely not? Some of those who practice christian virtues will not
be believers; some believers will not relate their faith to action. The same
applies to the mythology of revolution. Sorel had the last word on this: 'We
know that these myths in no way prevent a man profiting from the observation
he makes in the course of his life and form no obstacle to the pursuit of normal
occupations'. Stearns agrees that we cannot tell what the workers really
thought, what myths they believed, for we cannot penetrate so deeply in their
minds. 'Who then was really a syndicalist? We can never know for sure; but in
terms of actual protest activity it does not seem to matter much.' That
dismissal is too easy. It certainly mattered to contemporaries.
The rigorous method used in analysing the externally observable charac-
243
244
F. F. Ridley
245
NOTE
1.
247
248
Wilfried Rohrich
249
250
Wilfried Rohrich
ouvriere had come to a close- an end which very soon was to be accompanied
by a loss of elan. The general strike in particular, which revolutionary
Syndicalism had propagated as the signal for revolution, became less an
aspect of revolutionary technique and instead increasingly a social myth
mobilising the creative forces of the proletariat and implying an irrational
ideal of'perfection'. It gained a more symbolic significance, not least thanks to
Sorel's attempt, in his 'Reflexions sur Ia violence', to provide the Syndicalist
movement with a theoretical base. Increasingly out of temper with the
bourgeoisie, Georges Sorel had turned to revolutionary Socialism and
Syndicalism, prompted not by direct experience of proletarian misery, but by
the spectacle of the ruling classes' moral decline. It is important to bear this in
mind, since Sorel's stance bespeaks that of a revolutionary conservative who
came to Marx by way of Vico.
It is not least this genesis which helps to explain the objectives contained in
his 'Reflexions sur Ia violence'. They embody the philosophy of Sorel the
Syndicalist and we must therefore now turn to them in greater detail. The
'Reflexions'., a compilation of several articles previously published in Mouvement Socialiste contain the demand for a creative proletarian elite to grow out
of the workers' movement, which would then be able to rise against
parliamentary rule and at the same time, in order not to become weakened
itself, stir a hostile bourgeoisie into militancy. The determining factor in this
was the recognition that the proletariat's revolutionary energy would have to
be mobilised by opposition from the bourgeoisie and that the movement could
only be driven forward by ricorso to proletarian violence, in the sense of
Giambattista Vico's theory of corsi e ricorsi. The 'diplomatic alliance' between
State and party-socialists would have to be fought. Their amorphousness was
to be defeated by the passionate nature of the action. This constituted an
appeal to the heroism of the proletariat, combined with an absolute rejection
of the 'optimistic school' of reformism which, as the elitist theoretician
Vilfredo Pareto once expressed it, was under the illusion 'that the ruling class,
inspired by pure charity', would exert itself 'for the benefit of the oppressed
class'. 14
Sorel, then, with the weapon of the general strike sought to counter partysocialism with bellicose proletarian solidarity. 'The syndicalist general strike',
he wrote, 'is most closely related to the system of war: the proletariat organises
itself for battle ... by regarding itself as the great driving force of history and
by subordinating every social concern to that of the struggle.' 15 For Sorel it
was the great battle images which were to fire this struggle, it was the mythos
of the greve generale, as the spontaneous expression of group beliefs,
representing an intellectually irrefutable 'unity'. Socialist action was to be
understood as an inner, spiritual imperative, as a philosophy of action akin to
Henri Bergson's. 16 Sorel, who stressed the importance of the elan vital, took
up this philosophy of creative evolution, which to him meant proletarian
251
evolution. Socialism, 'une vertu qui nait', had to grow out of the working
classes' dynamic impulses of will.
More than by Bergson, however, Sorel was influenced by Proudhon, 17
particularly with regard to the proletarian ethic, and the concept of justice
connected with it. To be sure, many ideas of this 'first truly proletariansocialist theoretician' (Edouard Berth) went unheeded by Sorel. Then, more
than in Proudhon's day, the future of Socialism depended on the scala del
capitalismo- and from this recognition flowed Sorel's demand, already
referred to, to arouse the proletariat to engage as equals in the battle with a
strong bourgeoisie.
Sorel, the anti-parliamentarian, sought to fuse Proudhon's work with that
of Marx. Already in his essay 'Le proces de Socrate' (1889) he had begun to
think in Proudhonist terms and even in his revolutionary Syndicalist phase he
remained faithful to Proudhon's thinking. The idea of justice, just as the idea
of the bataille napoleonienne, was an interpretation of Socialism based on
Proudhon's concepts- a socialism conceived as a manifestation of the
proletarian conscience, in the sense of a rugged, masculine moralism. Both
men addressed themselves to the homme revolte, urging him to rise against the
authoritarian forces; both emphasised the existential dialectic, in the sense of
the anima appassionata. Sorel argued that the revolutionary energy of the
proletariat alone 'could demonstrate the revolutionary reality to the bourgeoisie and spoil its pleasure in humanitarian platitudes'. 18 This French
theoretician, who claimed to have 'moralised Marx a little', 19 interpreted
Socialism as an inner tension, producing a combative spirit. Marx appeared
not to have considered 'that there might occur a revolution whose ideal would
be regression or at least the preservation of the social status quo'. 20 Marx was
not able to conceive of such a 'revolution'. However, just such a revolution
was now being sought, when the proletariat, originally perceived as a class on
its own, began to develop, or rather its party organisation began to develop,
into a vague community of interests. And in view of this phenomenon alone,
the 'Reflections on Violence' would be heard on the other side of the
barricades as well, in their intention to rekindle social antagonism. Not least
for this reason, violence, in spontaneous action, was to arouse proletarian
impulses of will, conscious that the struggle to come would be the 'most
profound and sublime phenomenon of moral existence'. 21
Violence, growing out of a revolutionary spirit and aiming at a napoleonic
battle, was thus sanctioned. The proletariat appeared as the hero of the
drama; the greve generale would become an 'accumulation d'exploits
heroiques' (Sorel), corresponding to that freedom of will which Proudhon had
stressed, providing the 'sentiments of the beautiful and sublime' that went
with it. 22 In the place of 'force', as the bourgeoisie's instrument of power,
'violence', as the manifestation of the class struggle, indicated the method of
the proletarian general strike. This violence, incomprehensible to a bourgeois
252
Wilfried Rohrich
253
and Fascism, one realises that a considerable step in the direction of Fascism
had already been taken.
Here again it would be beyond the scope of this paper to retrace the genesis
of Fascism in detail. Without wishing to pre-empt the following contribution,
it should nevertheless be borne in mind that Fascism could only acquire
political power, because prominent factions within the economically dominant class and their political and ideological representatives desired this. Max
Horkheimer's famous remark that those who don't want to talk about
capitalism should also keep quiet about Fascism, 29 indicates the perhaps most
relevant link between the two phenomena, namely of capitalist production
and reproduction and the form of rule that goes with it. If one adds to this
socio-economic function of Fascism the anti-communist ideology fostered by
the revolutionary threat posed by the Italian maximalists, as well as the mass
support provided by social groups of middle-class mentality 30 even before the
Fascist seizure of power, it is possible to make out the historically significant
contours of the epochal phenomenon of Fascism. These brief indications must
suffice before we return once more to our more restricted subject: Sorel's
relation to Fascism.
If Georges Sorel's relation to emergent Fascism- he died shortly before the
march on Rome- is to be assessed correctly, it will be necessary to remember
not only how dominant for his thinking were his anti-parliamentarian and
anti-democratic views, but also his myths -the mythos of violence, of the
general strike, of the nation. In this Sorel comes very close to Vilfredo Pareto's
anti-democratic theory of the elite. Long before Sorel turned to politics,
Pareto had recognised that parliamentary democracy, or at least the form it
took at that time in Italy, was doomed. Already in his 'Trattato di sociologia
generate' (1916) Pareto had advocated the energetic rule of the elite and
condemned as demagogy any form of democratic government. Thus, in his
later writings, we find the close intellectual relationship to Sorel emphasised;
just like the latter, Pareto stressed the 'futility of parliamentary and
democratic dogmas', 31 pointed to the 'absurd idea of one half plus one'. 32 As
Mussolini had jibed: 'Oh, precious naivety of an era that believes in the meta
piu uno'. 33 Both thinkers, in their advocacy of the elitist idea, aimed at a
trasformazione della democrazia, according to the slogan with which Pareto
headed his collection of articles, published in the Rivista di Milano in the
historic year of 1920.
In the case of Sorel, his antidemocratic, elitist theory was combined with the
element of myth. The characteristic features of this myth have already been
referred to in connection with revolutionary Syndicalism and need now only
be extended from the proletariat to the entire nation, in order to comprehend
their impact. The social myth, directed at the creative proletarian energies and
implying, as we have seen, an irrational idea of'perfection', encapsulated the
Socialist movement in images which -en bloc et par Ia seule intuition -were to
stimulate individual acts in the proletarian struggle. The appeal to the heroic
254
Wi/fried Rohrich
255
NOTES
l.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
ll.
12.
13.
256
Wilfried Rohrich
258
Adrian Lyttelton
The simplest and oldest theory of Fascist violence treats it in origin as the
manifestation of a class war of the bourgeois and propertied classes against
peasants and workers. The evidence for this thesis is in fact very strong, and I
do not think its fundamental truth should be questioned. 2 The character and
success of Fascist violence, and its geographical distribution, cannot be
explained except by reference to the pattern of social conflict existing already
by 1919-20. Although in 1919 the strike level was lower than in England,
France and Germany, in 1920 the level was higher than in any other country. 3
The incidence of Fascist violence was greatest in those regions where social
conflict was already strongest. The only exceptions are parts of the south of
Italy and Sicily where social conflict took the apparently more radical form of
land occupations, and the incidence of Fascist violence was comparatively
slight. Fascist violence was predominantly a response to the more modem
forms of labour organisation and class conflict, and was relatively inapplicable to areas where older patterns of communal rebellion obtained. One
problem which in this respect would repay investigation is the extent to which
other forms of violence performed a substitutive function. At least in Western
Sicily, the violence employed by Mafia gangs against peasant organisers can
be viewed in this light, 4 although the problem of Mafia and violence as a whole
is undoubtedly more complex.
However, when one says that Fascist violence was a response to the modem
forms of labour organisation and class conflict, this conclusion needs to be
qualified. Although Fascist violence was used against urban industrial
workers, the relationship between class conflict in industry and Fascist
violence was much less close than that for agrarian conflict. One should
distinguish further here between 'urban' and 'industrial'. Large industrial
cities offered a less favourable ambiente for Fascist violence than small towns
and villages. The same is probably true oflarge firms or factories compared to
small.
Compared with industrial, agrarian class conflict has inherently stronger
tendencies making for violence. The seasonal nature of agricultural work
means that on the one hand the effect of strikes during harvest-time or other
peak periods of the year may be disproportionately disastrous to employers;
on the other hand, the slack months offer the latter a good chance for a
counter-offensive. In the lands of the Po valley, moreover, the existence of a
permanent labour surplus posed a continual threat to stable trade-union
organisation. By a remarkable tour de force, the Socialist peasant leagues had
overcome this difficulty in the first two decades of the century. But their
achievement had a price. The need to maintain cohesion in the face of the
constant threat of blacklegging by unemployed or migrant workers made
necessary extremely harsh methods of discipline. Boycotting and violent
intimidation were frequent in the 'red' provinces. In the post-war climate of
messianic revolutionary expectation, this often extended to an intolerance of
political or religious dissent. Socialism in the Po Valley thus provides an
259
exception to Raymond Carr's generalisation that 'an organised socialdemocratic labour movement cannot be formed in an area with high
permanent unemployment'. But it is an exception which proves the rule, in the
sense that the resulting problems both rendered the movement vulnerable and
contributed to the prevalence of the mentality of massimalismo. Even where
the local leadership professed reformist principles, their methods of control
were scarcely compatible with the bourgeois liberal order. s
One aspect of the social and political conflict which had a peculiar
importance for the rise of Fascism, and which can be directly linked to many
of the movement's acts of organised violence, is the contest for local power.
The Socialist conquest of the municipalities and the provinces in the autumn
of 1920 was one of the factors which drove local elites to take action. In the
eyes of the opponents of Socialism, the flying of the red flag from the town hall
was an insult to the nation and an invitation to violence. The Socialists, on
their side, by announcing their intention to use the communes as a
springboard for revolution, presented their opponents with a fine excuse for
illegal action. What Charles Tilly terms the 'nationalisation of politics' 6 was
still, I would argue, incomplete in Italy. It is true that the war had contributed
to a vast upsurge of identification with political programmes of national or
international significance. However, in most of Italy, local conflict had a far
greater immediacy. Other factors played their part in maintaining the smallscale, immediate character of politics. In a country where effective literacy
could not be taken for granted, and before the rise of the modern mass media,
propaganda had still to be conducted very largely by face-to-face and personal
methods of communication. Violence was demonstrative as well as
intimidatory. The contest for public space, in the piazza or the main street, was
an important feature of politics. Squadrismo was not the product of a mass
society of atomised individuals, but of closely knit provincial communities.
A second, obvious explanation for Fascist violence lies in the effect of the
war. It is certainly incorrect to view Fascist violence merely as a kind of
aberration or intoxication bred by wartime psychology. Class conflict had
spilled over into serious violence even before the war. 7 However, the war
contributed to the growth of violence both incidentally, by the political
passions it aroused, and the hopes it awakened and disappointed, and also
directly, by encouraging men already inured to combat to seek violent
solutions. Neither the specific characteristics, nor the extent and effectiveness
of Fascist violence could have been predicted without the war. The
bewilderment of the opponents of Fascism is a sign of the radical novelty
which the war had introduced into politics. Before, political violence was
associated either with 'protest', or with repression by state organs; its
deliberate large-scale use by a party to further political aims, was something
which most pre-war politicians, even revolutionaries, did not seriously
contemplate.
We must now turn to an examination of the constraints imposed on Fascist
260
Adrian Lyttelton
violence by the legal and institutional order ofltaly in this period. The modem
state, according to Weber's famous definition, 8 claims the monopoly of
legitimate forms of coercion. It follows that the growth of political violence is
circumscribed by the powers of the state, and by the way in which they are
exercised. The legal system as well as social mores define what violence is.
Particularly important, as Pareto pointed out9 , is the extent to which collective
violence is recognised as a phenomenon sui generis, which cannot be dealt with
by the ordinary processes of criminal law. Giolitti, often accused ofleniency in
dealing with Socialist 'crimes' against property, put this very clearly in June
1921, when he replied to Socialist demands for more energetic action against
Fascist violence: 'I dati raccolti dall 'amministrazione dell' intemo porterebbero il numero degli iscritti ai fascia 187,000. None dunque una questione
pura di polizia, e una questione di politica altissima che va risolta dal
Parlamento.' 10
When a state enters into crisis, other political groups occupy the space
which it has left open for their violent action. Two different explanations can
be advanced for this 'retreat of the state': collusion and weakness. The latter is
likely to give rise to the former, as representatives of the state seek to make
bargains with the likely winners. However, it is difficult to explain collusion if
one assumes an homogeneous ruling class. Otherwise, why should the holders
of state power endanger their own monopoly of force? In a liberal democracy,
however, collusion with illegal violence may be the means by which the
administrative apparatus can extend its power at the expense of the
legislature. Within the administrative structure itself, superiors may need to
resort to outsiders to compel compliance with their orders; or, more
frequently, subordinates may use the same methods to bring pressure on their
bosses and subvert the hierarchy of command. These observations may
appear unnecessary; but I believe that they contradict those explanations of
Fascist violence which treat it as merely an epiphenomenon, or as a mere
variant of a basically unchanging system of repression.
While one certainly cannot exempt political leaders from responsibility,
collusion with Fascist violence was more serious among magistrates, officials
and army officers. More controversially, I would argue that it was more
extensive at the lower levels of the hierarchy in the Army and in the civil
bureaucracy. As collusion grew more widespread, the ability of political
leaders to impose law and order on the Fascists was undermined. I will expand
this point in a later section of this paper. Yet Fascist political violence was
never entirely free and unfettered. Even after 1925, fear of the reactions of the
King, the Church, and foreign powers could restrain the temptation to resort
to wholesale terror. 11 However, the extent of the space left open to Fascist
violence was very considerable. In Germany, Hitler could only unleash the full
force of Nazi violence once he had captured the levers of official government
authority; in Italy, Mussolini did not need to adopt a 'legality tactic', and
could employ violence relatively openly not only to destroy his enemies but to
261
subvert the state itself. 12 This points to the conclusion that the ambiguities
and weaknesses of the Italian legal order played a great part in facilitating
Fascist violence. The key role of the prefects, officials who had to act
according to political discretion rather than administrative precedent,
certainly made for flexibility, but this flexibility could be dangerous. It meant
that law very easily took second place to political expediency. Some of the
critics of the Giolittian system, such as Einaudi and Albertini, even though
their criticisms were often bound up with the defence of class interests, had
identified this danger before the rise of Fascism.
More generally, confidence in the impartiality of law and the administration in Italy was insecure, and with good reason. Italian society, at the same
time, preserved large areas of lawlessness and violence. In this situation, state
authorities had resorted since unification both to collusion with crime and to
arbitrary police action. More damaging still, both these responses to disorder
were deliberately exploited against political opponents. Political violence to
some degree became acceptable to public opinion, and to many of the
custodians of law and order themselves. It is nevertheless true that all the
blame cannot be laid at the doors of the state or of the heritage of Italian
history. The verbal assaults of the Socialists on state authority did much to
dispose middle-class opinion to justify Fascist violence. Initially, some of
those who later protested vigorously regarded it as a 'legitimate reaction'
against the excesses of revolutionaries and pseudo-revolutionaries.
II
262
Adrian Lytte/ton
society. I have taken homicide as the main yardstick, because homicide figures
are less affected by changes in law enforcement than are other crime indexes.
For example, the incidence of crimes against public order (delitti contro /'ordine
pubblico), and cases of violenze, resi&tenze e oltraggi all' autorita was lower in
1919 than in 1915; 14 it is reasonable to suppose that this decline indicates the
greater reluctance of the authorities to prosecute, rather than an effective
decrease in disorder.
Our direct knowledge of the casualties of Fascist violence and the counterviolence of their opponents is still fragmentary. However, official sources,
which almost certainly err on the side of understatement, give figures of 102
dead and 388 wounded for the period 1 January to 1 April1921, and 7l dead
and 216 wounded in the period 16-30 May alone. 15 The t-otal number of
deaths resulting from Fascist violence during 1921 can probably be estimated
at around 500-600. The official figures (which may err on the low side) show
an increase in homicides in the northern and central provinces of Italy of
about 350 between 1920 and 1921. In other words, the increase in violence
between 1920 and 1921 is fully accounted for by Fascism. 16 The figures in fact
show a marked contrast between North and South; in the south the number of
homicides declined by about 240, only the Abruzzi showing a significant
increase. 17 If, however, we look a little further into the pattern of post-war
violence, a somewhat different picture emerges. First of all, the most rapid
growth in violence in the post-war period took place not in 1921 but in late
1919 and 1920. The homicide rate for Italy as a whole jumped from 8.62 in
1919 (still below pre-war levels) to 13.95 in 1920 and reached a maximum of
16.88 in 1922. 18 This points to the conclusion that Fascism was responsible for
only a part of the growth of violence in post-war Italy. It should of course be
stressed that homicide figures do not distinguish between deaths due to
political or collective violence, and those attributable to passion, vendetta,
armed robbery, etc. A major work of collation of the evidence provided by
newspapers and local studies is still needed before we can arrive at a true
estimate of the extent of exclusively political violence during the period. The
statistics of cause di morte show that 26 individuals were killed by the police or
by the army in 1919, 92 in 1920, 115 in 1921 and 22 in 1922. 19 This is again
probably an underestimate, since some doctors may have been reluctant to
attribute responsibility to the forces of order. These figures reinforce the
conclusion that 1920 already saw a dramatic increase in the gravity of political
violence. They also show that the part played by the institutional violence of
the state, though notable, nonetheless definitely took second place to Fascist
violence in 1921-2.
In another sense, however, it may be unnecessary to distinguish between
political and other forms of violence. Private as well as politically motivated
homicide may be an index of disruption. Suicide, which had declined sharply
during the war, increased from 1919 on, but did not reach pre-war levels till
1923. This lends confirmation to the argument that the wartime sanction for
aggression against others continued to operate, though with gradually dim-
263
264
Adrian Lyttelton
why the terror was so successful. I should like to point here to the difficulties
which the propertied classes had in organising their own defence. During
1919-20, their attempts to do so were on the whole unsuccessful. They needed
the help of those with an aptitude for conflict. In 1918-19, Mussolini
deliberately set out to win the allegiance of those skilled in using violence. His
definition of combatant went 'from Diaz to the last infantryman' 23 but in
practice the Fascists appealed mostly to the aristocracy of combatants, to
those who fought from choice rather than from necessity, the arditi, the
volunteers, many of the reservist ex-officers.
The arditi in particular formed a pool.of potential users of violence whose
susceptibility both to idealistic appeals and to hard cash transcended the
bounds of ideology. Mussolini was one of the first to appreciate their
importance, but throughout 1919 and much of 1920 he was forced to compete
with the powerful rival attraction of D' Annunzio. The violence exercised by
the arditi (excluding Fiume and Dalmatia from consideration) was sporadic
and its immediate political effects were limited or even counter-productive.
But the arditi and their ideological spokesmen, the Futurists, were extremely
important in creating the image of the Fascist, the Fascist style, even though
during 1919 their identification with Fascism was by no means total. What
was later to be described as the first exploit of Fascist squadrismo, the burning
of the Socialist newspaper Avanti! on 15 Aprill919, was largely the work of
the Futurists and the arditi. It was an unplanned spontaneous action carried
out by young officer-students under the leadership of the Futurist Marinetti
and the chief of the arditi, Ferruccio Vecchi.
In spite of their small numbers and bizarre programme, the role played by
the Futurists in the psychological preparation of Fascist violence was
significant, from the time of the interventionist campaigns of 1914-15 when
they had led the field in verbal violence. The violence of the anarchistic
Boheme has been mentioned in other contexts; through the Futurists the
Fascists were able to tap this source. Marinetti himself, in a remarkable article
written in 1919, preached a synthesis between nationalism and anarchism: the
Futurists, he said, had glorified 'both patriotism and the destructive action of
lovers of freedom'. 24 The notorious demonstration against the Wilsonian
democrat Bissolati at the Scala in January 1919 could be described as a
Futurist evening. The courage and irreverence of the Futurists attracted
young officers, even when they had little real affinity with the movement's
artistic aims. The founder of Fascism in Ferrara, Gaggioli, called himself a
'Futurist'; he had won three silver medals in the war, and once killed three
Austrians in hand-to-hand combat. 25
In 1921-2 being a Fascist bully was often easy work; but in 1919-20, at
least in the 'red provinces', it still required considerable courage, and so men
like Gaggioli were essential. During this period in fact, the attempts of
elements among the propertied classes to organise for self-defence were on the
whole unsuccessful. They needed the active support of those groups such as
265
the arditi, the ex-officers, nationalist students and the 'heretics' of national
syndicalism who were psychologically prepared to abandon legality. These
marginal groups provided the leadership cadres for the later mass movement.
The older generation of the bourgeois and the middle classes were mostly
pacific by training, and easily intimidated by the apparently irresistible
strength of the Socialists. In April 1920, the leader of the Bologna fascio,
Arpinati, wrote, 'Certo e che questa borghesia bolognese ... non si e mossa
se non quando si e sentita, coli' ultimo sciopero, minacciata nella propria
sicurezza e nel proprio portafoglio.' 26
This sums up the contemptuousness with which the leaders of early Fascism
conceded their services to their bourgeois backers. One can document a very
important phase of preparation in the last half of 1920, during which the
Fascist movement reinforced its para-military structures, and gave them clear
priority over other aspects of the movement. The organisation and armament
of the action squads was carried out in response to definite instructions from
the central leadership of the fasci. On 26 October the Secretary of the fasci
Pasella, wrote to Gaggioli, 'Un particolare plauso per Ia costituzione delle
squadre fasciste d'azione che rappresentano -dato il momento e data Ia
caratteristica della nostra organizzazione- il compito precipuo nostro'. 27
Another sign of the primacy given to para-military organisation was the
instruction issued by the Central Committee to the fasci to choose demobilised
officers wherever possible to occupy the key post of political secretary. The
first great success of squadrismo was won in Trieste, a city still under army
occupation, where the squads from the beginning followed regular military
criteria for organisation. However, in the provinces of the rest of Italy, the
squads had to rely at first on a much more informal structure.
It is true that the incapacity of the propertied classes to organise their
defence directly was in part due to their continued faith in alternative
strategies. Many industrialists, indeed, refused to give support to the squads
even in 1921-2. The agrarians were much more determined and united in their
support. For the agrarians, the great strikes of summer 1920 were the turning
point. It was only then that the agrarians took effective steps to concert their
action, and only then did the more aggressive elements decisively gain the
upper hand over the more moderate leadership of the Confagraria, who had
put their faith in conciliation and the intervention of the state. This division in
the agrarian ranks goes back to the Giolittian period. It emerged clearly in the
aftermath of the great Syndicalist strike of 1908 fn Parma, when the agrarian
organiser Lino Carrara, the man most responsible for breaking the strike,
proposed the creation of 'un corpo di volontari interprovinciale', whose
propaganda would be 'pacifica finche ci permettano che pacifica sia, perche
talvolta potrebbe essere anche propaganda attiva'. 28 Active propaganda was
clearly a euphemism for coercion.
It is significant that, as far as one can see, it was the more dynamic capitalist
entrepreneurs in agriculture who took the lead in urging a more aggressive
266
Adrian Lyttelton
policy, while a more cautious attitude prevailed among the nobility and large
landowners. The changes in landownership in the post-war period, though
their extent has never been satisfactorily measured, clearly strengthened the
former of these groups at the expense of the latter. But it should be emphasised
that the major explanation of the commitment of the agrarians to violence lies
in the circumstances of 1920. In particular the disastrous defeat of the agrarian
organisations in the Bologna strike movement brought about a far-reaching
crisis of confidence in the old leadership. In 1921, the old landowning
aristocracy ofTuscany embraced the policy of terror with as much enthusiasm
as the 'new men' of the Po valley. In regions where the aristocracy had retained
a strong influence, the failure of paternalism came as a sudden shock which
found the landowners unprepared to meet the crisis by any but the most brutal
means. In such regions the aristocracy were fighting to re-establish their
political supremacy as well as their control over land; the two aspects of power
were regarded as inseparable. It should be mentioned that the declasse young
aristocrat bent on restoring his fortunes was a characteristic figure among the
leadership of the squads: men such as Arrivabene and Barbiellini in the Po
valley, and Perrone Compagni in Florence.
The agrarians financed and armed the squads throughout the countryside
of north and central Italy. In some provinces, the agrarian Federations were
directly responsible for the creation of the local Fascist movement, for
example in Alessandria, Pavia and Arezzo. The victims of the 'punitive
expeditions', even when these were launched from the cities, were usually
marked out by the local agrarians, who guided the squads to their
destination. 29 To enforce subordination, even isolated acts of individual
resistance to the agrarians' claims might be punished. In Cremona, 40 Fascists
surrounded and beat up a Catholic peasant who had asked his landlord to pay
ofT the arrears he owed him. 30 Even in the first phase of squadrismo, when
most of the recruits still came from the provincial capitals, there was a strong
agrarian element present. Apart from landowning families resident in the
provincial cities, many agrari would have sent their sons to study there,
especially in university towns like Bologna, Ferrara, or Pisa.
Faced with the phenomenon of agrarian Fascism, the historian must
deplore the inadequacy of formulas which treat political violence a priori as a
manifestation of 'protest' or aggression resulting from frustration. 31 The
agrarian terrorism of the squads was highly organised, strategically effective,
and employed for clearly defined goals. Its aim was nothing less than the
piecemeal annihilation of its opponents' organisations (Socialist or Popolari).
The destruction of the institutions and property of party branches,
cooperatives, printing presses and even cultural circles, was the most visible
and symbolic form of violence. But the 'conquest' of Socialist organisations
and municipalities was reinforced and made possible by terror exercised
against individuals. Beating was the usual form of violence, with more or less
intentional homicide a frequent occurrence. Important also were forms of
267
268
Adrian Lytte/ton
269
Barbiellini of Piacenza kept their own squads for use against enemies and
rivals, particularly within the Fascist movement. Balbo, with a more
sophisticated technique resembling that of the criminal syndicates, employed
thugs from Perugia to intimidate his local enemies. The continued exercise of
violence by the ras, in spite of its sordid and personal aims, was also an element
in their popularity with the ordinary squadristi. The mythology of squadrismo
contrasted simple solutions imposed by force to the corruption of 'politics':
the only true Fascists were those who knew how to 'menar le mani'. Many
squadristi believed that they were engaged in a crusade for national revival
whose true goals were still in the future. For the majority, however, the main
motive for continued activity may not have been so much either cynical
careerism or patriotic idealism as a kind of camaraderie. Photographs of the
action squads show a striking similarity to those of football or sports teams.
The punitive expedition, even if it involved breaking someone's head, for the
participants was often an outing with the lads, an excuse to make a lot of noise,
eat and drink without paying, and have a good time generally. The spirit of
these gatherings has been described brilliantly (not without a certain
sympathy) by Pratolini in his novel Lo scialo.
The squads had their own names and flags, frequently possessed their own
membership cards, and owed obedience to their own leaders, chosen usually
by informal methods. The origins of many squads can be found in groups of
adolescents and young men united by primary ties of relationship or
friendship. Like youth gangs, the squads provided ways of proving 'manhood'
through violent action. Violence for the squadrista was the requirement for
membership of a group of peers, and the squad was a powerful focus for
attraction, loyalty and solidarity. Rivalry between squads in the same city or
province often ended in hostilities. Challenges and duels between individual
Fascists were also frequent, and the party had a 'court of honour' to deal with
such disputes. This reflected not only the military ethos. but also the aping of
aristocratic manners by certain groups in society, particularly journalists.
Mussolini himself was an accomplished duellist. Although the small-group
solidarity of the squads posed great difficulties for the leaders in terms of
control, and the imposition of coherent strategy, on the other hand it had
great psychological advantages. It seemed to protect the Fascists from the
feelings of boredom and impotence common among the members of large
organisations. Studies of armies and factories have shown the importance of
informal group membership in mediating the demands of the organisation on
the individual and making them tolerable. To a high degree, the informal
loyalties of the squads survived even after the creation of the MVSN in 1922.
The Consuls of the individual legions were usually at first chosen from among
the old leaders of the squads: 'Mantenne (il Comando Generate) si puo dire
totalmente in carica i Consoli che essili raggruppavano. Il Console era l'uomo
d'assoluta fiducia del gregario. ' 38
At all levels the Fascist movement made use of symbolic devices for
270
Adrian Lyttelton
'bonding' well-known to students of social psychology, e.g. the salute, the use
of uniforms, and the ritual mocking of opponents. Elementary as they may
seem, the forms of Fascist violence themselves were not without their crude
symbolism. The manganello or cudgel acquired the connotations of a virility
symbol; caricatures of the manganello assimilate the shape to that of mock
clubs used in carnival. Such episodes as the public humiliation of Misiano, the
former deserter elected deputy, were presented as rites of national
purification. The novelty of Fascist politics was not in violence or military
organisation alone, but in the combination of these features with ritual, as in
the cult of the movement's 'martyrs'. Party violence was thus disguised by
both military and religious forms.
The Fascist regime did not institutionalise terroristic violence, as distinct
from police oppression, in permanent forms. Even the semi-legal activities of
the Militia were curbed once organised political opposition had been crushed.
From 1926 on, squadrismo once again largely became a 'fringe phenomenon' of
discontented groups of activists. But the myths and traditions of squadrismo
survived as an important component of Fascism, which even the fall of the
regime did not permanently eradicate. Neo-Fascism after 1945 has been
associated with a sub-culture of violence. This can legitimately be described as
an affair of 'fringe groups', locally circumscribed and limited to a relatively
small number of youthful activists. It has flourished particularly in Rome, both in
the university and in certain petty bourgeois quartieri. The cult of sport and
physical force attracted recruits from a seedy world of second-rate gymnasia
and boxing rings, where contacts with the criminal underworld were frequent.
After a first peak in the early 1950s, squadrismo became a serious problem
again in the 1970s, in reaction both to the advance of the PCI and to the
activity of the extra parliamentary left. In the last years, the violence between
extreme Right and extreme Left has seemed to take on a more factional
character, in which political and class motivation take second place to contests
for 'territory'. This is another example of the ambiguities of political violence
and its tendency to degenerate into violence pure and simple. A movement
such as the Fascist, with an ideology relatively weak in coherence and
explanatory power and emphasising the positive value of violence per se, is
particularly likely to give rise to phenomena of this sort. There are signs,
however, that the mystical and irrationalist strains in Fascist ideology may
also be having a revival; some of the latest 'action groups' of the extreme Right
have taken to naming themselves after Tolkien heroes. 39
IV
In trying to understand the meaning of Fascist violence, I believe one must
take into account three different types of motivation: violence arising from
frustration and social disorganisation, violence reacting against a threat to
271
272
Adrian Lytte/ton
273
NOTES
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
274
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
Adrian Lyttelton
See C. Tilly's criticism ofGurr and others, in C., L., and R. Tilly, The Rebellious
Century 1830-1930 (London, 1975) p. 297.
See note 24 above.
Demers, pp. 210-11.
Comer, pp. 97-8.
See F. Merlin, in Storia del Parlamento, pp. 171-2.
Ibid. p. 165.
E.g. in Brescia, even before the March on Rome the threat of violence was used to
pressure independent agrarians into joining the Fascist organisation; in 1923 an
employer was murdered by two officers of the Militia 'in the name of class
collaboration', for failing to pay agreed wage rates: A. Kelikian, Brescia 19151926: from liberalism to corporatism, unpublished. D. Phil. thesis (Univ. of
Oxford, 1978) pp. 226, 250.
E. De Bono, 'Le origini della milizia e i suoi primi ordinamenti', in: T. Sillani, Le
forze armate dell 'Jta/ia Fascista (Rome, 1939) pp. 288-91,
For a remarkable portrait of this ambiente, see G. Saliemo, Autobiograjia di un
picchiatore fascista (Turin, 1976).
See W. G. Runciman, Relative Deprivation and Social Justice (London, 1972)
pp. 154-6 for the concept as applied to the middle classes.
See M. Barbagli, Disoccupazione intellettuale e sistema scolastico in Italia
(Bologna, 1974) pp. 168-95.
See R. K. Merton, Social Theory and Social Structure (New York, 1953)
pp. 161-94.
R. Vivarelli, // dopoguerra in Italia e /'avvento de/fascismo ( 1918-1922), vol. 1,
Dalla fine della guerra all' impresa di Fiume (Naples, 1967) p. 100.
N. Z. Davis, Society and Culture in Early Modern France (London, 1975) p. 186.
17 Violence in Italian
Fascism, 1919-25
Jens Petersen
Mussolini, hard-pressed by radical Fascism, both provincial and agrarian,
and by the Aventino's intransigent opposition, in his parliamentary speech of
3 January 1925 proclaimed the breakthrough to the fascist one-party state.
Answering his anti-fascist critics, he said:
They say that Fascism consists of a horde of barbarians who have pitched
their tents within the nation, that it is a movement of bandits and robbers!
They raise the moral issues ... very well, I hereby declare ... that I alone
take the political, moral and historic responsibility for everything that has
happened ... The fault is mine if Fascism has been nothing but castor oil
and cudgels, rather than the noble passion of the flower ofltalian youth! If
all acts of violence have been the outcome of a certain historical, political,
moral climate, then the responsibility is mine, for I created this
climate ... by a propaganda beginning at the time of the intervento and
lasting to the present day. 1
His words at this decisive moment gave an indication of the central
importance then attaching to the problem of violence in the assessment of
Fascism. For the victims offascist violence- the labour movement, the parties
of the Left and the trade unions- Fascism and violence seemed to have
become virtually synonymous. The experiences of twenty years of fascist
dictatorship and of the civil war of 1943-5, coinciding with the final stages of
the Second World War, have shrouded the early phase of Fascism as well in an
even darker light.
What has been the significance accorded to the question of violence in the
discussions to date? Looking back, P. Togliatti called the Fascists and their
squadri's systematic illegal violence 'the great innovation in the conduct of
leading political groups in Italy. In that phase oftheir history, it represented
the only truly novel creation ... of the Italian bourgeoisie.' 2
Recent research is unanimous in regarding violence as 'a fundamental
ingredient', indeed as the 'actual substance of Fascism'. 3 Among the elements
which triggered the crisis in Italy's political system, social violence is seen as
275
276
Jens Petersen
the most important factor by far. Since the modem State, along with the
monopoly of legitimate coercion, bas taken over the function of securing
internal peace and of guaranteeing an unbloody settlement of social conflict,
'the practice of private violence and its more or less open "toleration and
approbation" ... constitutes a break' with the traditional perception of the
role of the State. 4 According toW. Scbieder, Fascism did not set out 'to
convince or defeat its opponents, but to destroy them. The will to annihilate
the opponent is a constituent element of fascist rule'. 5 E. Nolte bas called
Fascism the realisation of the principle of war in peacetime, a continuation of
war by other means. He argues that Fascism with its 'unbridled rule of
force ... in large parts of Italy', its campaigns of destruction and its
'massacres' precipitated Italy into a 'civil war' and terrorised the country to a
degree, 'which bad no equal in the history of modem European states'. 6
While Nolte, as a liberal, still possesses a keen eye for the movement's
idealistic impulses, capable of creating sympathy and consensus, many of the
Left's accounts are entirely overshadowed by the violence, terror and
common criminality which constitute the dark side of Fascism. Thus, an
analysis of Fascism in Tuscany -particularly notorious for its ruthlessness declares that it had been 'at the outset, and for a number of years after it
became institutionalised, a murky and repulsive record of gangs of assassins,
who attacked and overthrew the edifice of the State, the White Guard of a
blind and merciless Vendee'. 7
The unanimity of such judgements bas its roots in the accounts of suffering
by the victims of Fascism from 1920 onwards. 'Fascism', as one communist
publication of that time put it, 'bas established itself in Italy, on the corpses of
thousands of workers and peasants, on the funeral pyres of workers'
institutions and cooperatives; the prisons are full of workers and
peasants ... the cases of ill-treatment and enforced administration of castor
oil run into millions.' 8 In the summer of 1921, A. Gramsci described the
situation as follows:
In the 356 days of 1920, 2,500 Italians (men, women, children and old
people) have been killed in streets and squares by the guns of police and
fascists. In the past 200 days of the barbaric year 1921, about 1,500 Italians
have been murdered by bullet, dagger or cudgel. About 40,000 free citizens
of democratic Italy have been beaten, disfigured, injured; a further 20,000 of
these ever so free citizens of this ever so democratic Italy ... were forced by
threats to leave their work places and their homes ... about 300 local
government representatives were forced to resign ... hundreds of workers
institutions, people's houses, cooperatives belonging to communist and
socialist party branches have been looted and burnt; 15 million Italians in
the Emilia, the Polesine, the Romagna, in Tuscany, Umbria, Veneto and
Lombardy are being constantly subjected to the rule of armed gangs, who
are allowed to pillage and loot and beat them up with impunity. 9
277
278
lens Petersen
279
Jens Petersen
280
experiences with military forms of struggle during the "civil war of 1919-22"
in Italy' 29 in which, in the face of the fascist campaign of violence, it no longer
questions the legitimacy of proletarian use of violence, but merely criticises the
inability of the Left, particularly the maximalists, to come to grips with the
technical, organisational, psychological and military problems attaching to
the conduct of a civil war by the proletariat. Today, it is from this position that
a large part of the new Italian Left judges the political situation of that time. 30
But it was, after all, a feature of the Italian situation after 1919 that two
more or less evenly matched parties to the civil war did not in fact exist.
Instead of action and counter-action, there existed (fascist) action and
TABLE 17.1:
58
139
15
317
191
10
50
133
15
265
174
7
Total, Northern
Italy
730
Tuscany
Umbria
Marches
Latium
Abruzzi
Total, Central
Italy
Campagna
Apulia
Calabria
Basilicata
Sicily
Sardinia
Total, Southern
Italy
30
28
6
162
92
I
224
144
34
274
142
13
91
57
2
219
181
II
27
45
. 6
255
112
17
644
86
319
831
561
462
97
74
23
15
21
91
74
20
14
20
27
6
9
I
187
46
20
28
33
89
31
22
2
46
45
I
42
3
13
230
219
ll
48
314
190
104
14
59
7
4
24
II
59
6
15
I
ll
191
19
45
16
35
3
53
16
41
6
23
29
276
127
66
8
6
52
17
3
I
I
2
20
4
2
2
4
I
113
101
12
281
13
13
42
49
49
93
18
29
41
79
73
42
48
49
52
12
27
41
486
429
72
73
41
6
2
7
2
2
5
33
5
2
9
16
38
84
28
4
11
110
6
196
358
11
35
45
56
52
40
11
9
26
46
8
4
91
63
40
21
79
57
4
7
84
23
24
327
310
Total, Po Valley
Total
Source:
57
I.
(proletarian) suffering, and on the part of the lower and middle echelons of the
State passivity, impotence or even complicity.
In an amazing and often infuriating manner ... the struggle [was] decided
by the predominance of one party. Everywhere it was the fascists who were
the aggressors. Socialist acts of violence, which may have been the
immediate cause for retaliatory strikes, were for the most part no more than
a response to fascist incursions. Everywhere fascist violence was systematic,
deliberate and intent on destroying the opponent; socialist resistance on the
other hand was inconsistent, sporadic and flagged soon. 31
This defensive aspect of Left violence - regardless of whether it is judged
positively or negatively- is almost completely absent in the accounts of the
Left: Fascism is simply turned into the symbol of innocently suffered violence.
If we follow these authors, there were virtually no instances where known men
of violence were arrested, remanded in custody or indeed sentenced. Even
minimal guarantees provided by a constitutional State had been wiped out.
The socialist G. Matteotti, for instance, spoke of the 'absolute guarantee of
impunity ... for all (fascist) criminals', 32 and took the view that the whole
282
Jens Petersen
283
284
lens Petersen
IV
The debate about violence within the Italian Left, and the forms political
violence of the Left took during the so-called 'two red years' (unrest caused by
inflation, strikes, land occupations, mutinies, occupations of factories), can
only briefly be touched upon here. In his work, G. Salvemini effectively
exploded the legend of 'red chaos' and was able to show that the degree of
social conflict in Italy at that time did not exceed that of victorious nations like
France and Britain. It has meanwhile become an axiom of historiography that
it was not 'red' violence which provoked fascist violence- which already
existed latently and indeed in practice- but that it merely provided it with a
convenient justification. 'The violence of Italian Socialists [produced] with a
minimum of substance a maximum of false and evil images and no gain at
all.' 41 At the party conference in Bologna in November 1919, F. Turati, the
leading thinker of the Socialists' reformist wing, warned against the claim that
the dictatorship of the proletariat could only be achieved by violence and
called it 'a lackluster ideal of armed and brutal violence'.
Violence is nothing else but the suicide of the proletariat ... At present
(Ollr opponents) do not yet take us quite seriously; but if they should
consider it useful to take us seriously, then our appeal to violence will be
taken up by our enemies, who are a hundred times better armed than we are,
and then it will be good-bye for quite a while to parliamentary action, to
economic organisation and to the Socialist Party!
285
State. Matteotti called fascist illegality, and the reactions of both government
and middle class public that accompanied it, a landmine which would cause
civil war and the 'disintegration of the country'. He spoke of the tragedy of
reformist socialism which, through the egotism and self-surrender of the
bourgeoisie, was being deprived of its basis for political action. 'In a terrain of
violence, which the complicity of the State helps to nourish, a Socialist Party
that stands for cultural, civilisatory progress and for the masses, is deprived of
its right to exist.' 45 The events of these months would bring it home to the
people 'that now only violence would serve to defend them against violence
and that, as an ultimate law of life, terror would have to be countered by
terror.' 46
v
It might be assumed from the foregoing that the phenomenon of social
violence was at the centre of political debate in post-war Italy and that the
'civil war' -as Papini argued -dominated the daily life of every Italian. This
assumption is certainly correct as far as certain months and certain Italian
regions at that time were concerned. It is probably also true for certain
sections of the political elites of the day, particularly for those who were in
close contact with the labour movement and the parties of the Left, or indeed
belonged to them. But on the other hand, the subject of political violence
seems to have bypassed large sections of public opinion almost unnoticed. A
look at the debates in the Senate during those years, for instance, reveals only
scant and quite inadequate indications of this aspect of Italian reality.
If one reads the declarations of the Bonomi (1921) and Facta (1922)
governments in Chamber and Senate, one is hard put to believe that one is
dealing with a country in which the fascist seizure of power was only just
around the corner. Bonomi, for instance, proclaimed in December 1921 that
the policy of pacification pursued by him had already proved largely
successful. That portion of Italy, where armed conflict still occurred
sporadically, had been reduced to a fifth of the State's territory, and even in
these still disturbed districts 'calm and order would be restored in the near
future'. 47 Facta's nutro .fiducia (I have faith in the future), with which he
sought to calm his critics, has since become axiomatic for the helplessly blind
optimism and the divorce from reality this politician, and the political forces
of liberalism he represented, suffered from. While F. Turati declared in the
Chamber that 'Italy today is in a state of full-scale civil war! The very existence
of the constitutional State ... is at stake ... We are facing the collapse of a
culture ... At issue now is the decision between a civilised Italy and a rebarbarised one', 48 Facta felt able to state that 'the attempts ... at violence
and incursions against citizens and State' were by and large 'limited and
isolated'. 'Our country is far from those conditions which it has pleased this or
286
Jens Petersen
that person to call grave. ' 49 Recent studies have rightly emphasised the
inability oflarge sections of the ruling elites of the day and of public opinion to
comprehend the phenomenon of Fascism in all its danger and magnitudeso
and this is evidently particularly true where the extent and implications of
non-constitutional, illegal use of violence were concerned. Relegated to the
local news pages, under headings similar to those of common crimes, it seems
that the events of that time were frequently not regarded as 'political' in the
strict sense, but as a 'brutta cronaca'. s 1 In August 1922 a liberal conservative,
such as G. Sarrocchi, could speak of'past episodes which have also been called
civil war', and even for a nationalist like Federzoni it was a question of
'occasional acts of violence' and 'disruptions of public order'. s 2
Depending on political viewpoint, personal fate or generation as well as
political and moral sensitivity, the events of that time have been felt in quite
different ways. This impression is confirmed on looking through evidence of
private reflections, in the form of correspondence, diaries, notes about
conversations, etc., now richly available. Anna Kuliscioff, for instance,
F. Turati's companion, already in the first months after the war, showed herself
deeply disturbed about the degree of destructiveness and verbal aggression
present in Italian society, about the 'overwhelming wave of hatred and blind
partisanship'. 'In Milan and Turin', she wrote in Aprill919, 'we will hardly be
able ... to escape from another 1898, certainly far more terrible and bloody
than those six days twenty years ago'. A few days later, after the destruction of
the Avanti offices, she writes, filled with a deep pessimism about Italy's future,
'I still hope that we may be able to get away with no more than one painful
experiment or another in revolutionary gymnastics and that it won't come to
the complete demolition of the entire social system, which for Italy, more than
elsewhere, would spell unmitigated disaster'. s4 The correspondence between
Turati and Kuliscioff between 1919 and 1922 reveals numerous instances of
seismographic sensitivity and a feeling for the extraordinary nature of the
political situation, that seem to be completely lacking in other records, such as
the diaries of Prezzolino or Ojetti. ss
VI
What were the dimensions of political violence in the Italy of that time? What
was the extent, the limits, the regional distribution, the quantitative and
qualitative aspects? What was the relation between political and criminal
violence? What long-term average statistics about Italian society should be
taken into account in assessing the problem of post-war violence? The only
comprehensive data available so far -which still provide the stock references
for even the most recent accounts -are based on the studies by A. Tasca and
G. Salvemini. The fragmentary official statistics, published by G. De Rosa
and R. De Felice, help to throw additional light on the reality of that period.
287
In answering the question as to the number of deaths in the 'civil war', one
must distinguish four groups:
(I) the parties of the labour movement (socialists, communists);
(2) fascists and ancillary groups (nationalists);
(3) representatives of the forces of the State;
(4) civilian bystanders.
The fascists surrounded their own casualties with a pseudo-religious cult of
martyrdom and produced different statements as to their numbers at different
times. Mussolini spoke of the 'countless dead' Fascism had sacrificed in the
Italian cause, 56 of'thousands of young fascists who died fearlessly, in order to
save Italy from impending disintegration and chaos'. 57 In September 1924
Mussolini talked of the 'indescribable sacrifice of our three thousand dead'. 58
During the tenth anniversary celebrations of Fascism he even stressed the
sacrificial and violent nature of the seizure of power in 1922 by asserting 'that
among all the insurrections of modern times, the fascist had been the
bloodiest'. 59 Other fascist publications mention figures of up to 50,000. 60 The
last figures produced by the fascists list 672 as "fallen for the fascist
revolution" in the period between 1919 and 1926.
Table 17.2 shows the chronological distribution. As to be expected, the year
1921 shows the greatest number of casualties. The figures for the first seven
months -the period leading up to the 'pacification pact' -with an average of
22 deaths, are only slightly higher than the monthly average for the whole year
TABLE 17.2:
1919
1920
1921
1922
6
10
20
14
53
20
33
15
22
16
l3
9
8
6
10
10
19
8
15
23
l3
41*
24
15
231
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
2
I
4
I
3
5
5
4
6
2
6
Total
36
192
1'J23
1924
1925
14
8
7
3
6
3
3
4
3
l
3
2
3
9
9
4
4
6
4
2
5
2
7
8
3
10
7
I
6
5
6
5
3
60
71
50
lO
1926
I
2
2
2
I
2
2
6
2
4
29
288
Jens Petersen
289
period, lists 212 members of the labour movement as killed. 67 Without giving
specific reasons, Salvemini later raised the total number of deaths to 300. 68
Whatever the reliability of the above data, it is clear at any rate, that the
biennio rosso, the two red years, were relatively unbloody, if compared with
the period that followed.
For the actual period of'civil war' from October 1920 onwards, the records
are patchy. According to statistics produced by the Ministry of the Interior,
clashes between fascists and socialists between I January 1921 and 7 April
1921 (the day parliament was dissolved) resulted in 102 deaths (25 fascists, 41
socialists, 16 bystanders and 20 policemen) and 388 injured, 108 fascists and
123 socialists among them. From 8 April to 15 May (election day) 105 were
killed and 431 injured, from 16 to 31 May the figures are 71 deaths (16 fascists,
31 socialists, 20 bystanders, 4 policemen) and 216 injured. 69 As far as the
fascists are concerned, these data correspond roughly to the figures published
by themselves. According to Table 17.2, 103 fascists died during the period
January-May 1921. Properly adjusted, these figures coincide approximately
with the 65-70 fascists listed in official statistics. For the total number of
'socialists' who perished (approx. 115-20 during the first five months ofl921 ),
the data quoted offer valuable indications as well. The survey of the Corriere
della Sera, referred to earlier, came up with the figure of 406 'socialists' who
were killed by fascists between I October 1920 and 30 October 1922. Salvemini
assumes that roughly a third of fascist acts of violence were not picked up by
the Corriere. On top of that one would have to assume that a considerable
number of injured only died weeks or even months after such clashes, as a
result of the injuries or beatings they received. Salvemini therefore arrives at a
hypothetical total of approximately 600 'socialist' casualties. In his
estimation, to the 300 fascists and 600 socialists would have to be added the
fascists and anti-fascists who lost their lives in clashes with the police as well as
all'civilians' involved. The two latter groups he estimates at 1,100, and for the
period from October 1920 up to the march on Rome he arrives at a total of
2,000 victims. 70 'If we compare the 2,000 killed during the civil war of 1921/22
with the 200 killed during the period of bloody 'bolshevik tyranny', it is clear
that the casualties inflicted by civil war were worse than those inflicted by
'"bolshevism".' 71 The fact that Salvemini later revised upwards his estimate
of the victims offascist violence for the years 1921/22 shows on how uncertain
a base these data rest.
As for the extent, the chronological and the geographical distribution of
violence against property and institutions again we have only partial and
chronologically incomplete data. According to A. Tasca's survey (cf. Table
17.3) the fascists destroyed in the first half of 1921: 17 printing works and
newspaper offices, 59 people's houses, 119 workers' institutions, 107 cooperative houses, 8 mutual insurances, 141 socialist and communist party
offices, 100 cultural centres, 10 people's libraries and theatres, I adult
education institute, 28 labour trade unions, 53 workers' and convalescent
..,
~~
4
3
-
14
Total,
regions
2
I
I
-
Latium
Romagna
Tuscany
Marches
Umbria
Sicily
Sardinia
Apulia
Southern
Italy*
Piemont
Liguria
VeneziaGiulia
Lombardy**
Veneto***
~otl
<u ~
fl.
.s
3:: ...
~-r
~
<.>..1C
19
2
I
ll
_..,
-1:::
E
Q
..,<u
!;:!
83
21
I
9
2
9
3
3
I
13
I
15
-
~~
!;:!
"1:3""<::s
<u
.s
3
2
8
34
II
3
~
I
<u
=~...
:s
I
8
g>
...
2
I
!;:!
i!
:s
8 ......
o.._~
ii!;:!
5
6
7
112
3
9
I
70
6
4
I
...:!-C>
~]
'-'-'~
~~~
!;:!
. 'o-
~"S
100
I
3
100
~otl
~ ~
.._,.,!::
~~
...
..,
-~
~
13
...:s
......
.s
27
10
I
9
~-~
~ ~
...
{j
-ij..,
<u ~
... :s
....... -~
-ijt;
I::
I:: ..,
TABLE 17.3:
46
2
I
I
2
I
450
137
13
28
7
49
3
17
24
3
29
3
137
I
24
:
-
~8
~g
<u~
~..,
]~
_~;:~ ~
E
Q
~
~
~
~
~
2
4
119
36
Source:
83
75
8
3
107
73
25
6
9
7
19
15
1
37
9
4
2
1
7
excluding Apulia
excluding Pavia, Cremona and Mantua
excluding Rovigo
59
17
Total
21
2
1
2
40
1
1
Total, Po
Valley
Bologna
Cremona
Ferrara
Mantua
Modena
Parma
Pavia
Piacenza
Reggio Emilia
Rovigo
2
8
3
2
2
141
29
5
2
100
10
28
53
1
2
13
726
276
16
15
37
63
2
15
80
35
;;;-
~
v.
'0
t::
~
......
'0
......
(")
::::~
:3
292
lens Petersen
35
l
7
3
27
4
2
2
4
2
2
4
Opposers
l3
934
100
107
42
45
29
33
25
18
26
257
43
15
740
46
25
35
31
27
38
23
21
23
75
29
15
388
65
29
46
32
20
42
20
10
31
29
21
355
lO
276
126
66
85
54
88
33
28
56
57
52
Fascists
Opposers
Opposers
Arrests, reported
to the authorities
Fascists
Injured
Fascists
89
l3
24
5
5
138
7
4
6
15
14
6
3
441
60
10
5
51
17
15
57
38
33
32
16
30
89
44
19
30
-
Opposers
Fascists
Other acts of
violence
Opposers
Violence against
institutions
Source: R. De Felice, Mussolini i1 fascista, Vol. 11: L 'organizzazione dello Stato fascista 1925-1929 (Torino, 1968) p. l25f.
Total:
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
Fascists
Dead
TABLE 17.4: Acts of Political Violence in Italy in 1925 (up to 29 Dec. 1979)
~
~
10
10
......
to
~
I')
'
a~
:s
~
Fascists
Opposers
II,
10
50
I
49
Opposers
cit., p. 191.
Fascists
Injured
90
45
50
Oppasers
51
Fascists
Arrests
49
62
Fascists
II
43
Opposers
Charges
Acts of Political Violence in Italy in the first four months of 1926 and 1927
Jan.-April
1926
Jan.-April
1927
17.5:
Dead
TABLE
30
45
Fascists
42
99
Opposers
Other acts of
violence
;::
295
VII
What conclusions can be drawn from the statistics referred to above? The first
phase of historical research into Anti-Fascism, still informed by direct
experience of participation and suffering, was based largely on an identification of Fascism with violence. Le terreur fasciste (G. Salvemini), Gli anni del
manganello (The years of the cudgel) (W. Tobagi) 74 appeared as the essential
characteristics of one-party dictatorship. The concept of totalitarian rule
became the symbol of evil and of pure negativity. In his Goliath -one of the
key texts of the anti-fascist opposition -G. A. Borgese in 1937 called the
fascist system 'a penitentiary for forced labour', 'a slavery harsher than any we
know in ancient or modem history'. Although Borgese called the attempt to
'distinguish between black and pitch-black as absurd as it is repulsive', he
formulated at the same time, with Nazi Germany in mind, a primacy of evil for
the Italian case unsurpassed in its violent nature and its utter stupidity. 75
The point of historical research, however, is precisely to distinguish between
grey, black and pitch-black, that is to circumscribe the dimensions of a
phenomenon and to penetrate past questions of guilt to causes and structural
problems. The debate about the relation between power, violence and
consensus in the fascist regime, prompted by the works of R. De Felice, 76
suggests that the problem of violence during the transitional period, i.e. from
1919-25, should be investigated more closely. What do we know so far about
aims, objects, means, participants, extent, intensity and organisational forms
of violence which emerged in Italian post-war society? What do we know
about the distribution of the various social groups, their regional and
historical patterns, what about the extent of material destruction and the
distribution of the resulting costs? And what about the punishment of crimes
of violence imposed by the courts?
In the thirties, K. Mannheim complained that sociology had 'failed to
concern itself thoroughly with a theoretical analysis of the role of violence and
the circumstances surrounding its appearance'. In the sixties, H. Arendt still
spoke of the 'matter-of-course' way violence is accepted in politics, and that
violence was being neither analysed nor questioned. 77 After a number of years
of intensive research into the nature of conflicts and of critical studies on
peace, which in the United States, for example, have taken political violence as
one of the 'central topics' of investigation, 78 this criticism would hardly be
reiterated today. The point here is, whether the methods and hypotheses
developed in this connection might also be appJied to the historiographical
study of Fascism. The few attempts in this direction 79 show how much more
work remains to be done, beginning with a comprehensive inventory of
political violence in Italy, based on a systematic and thorough analysis of the
press -an inventory which would finally do away with the practice prevalent
hitherto, of each 'party' counting its own dead. It does not say much for the
quality of research into Fascism that it must to this day depend on the findings
Jens Petersen
296
ofTasca and Salvemini, by now forty years old. Such a broad-spectrum survey
would also permit us to examine the concept of 'civil war' in its applicability to
the Italian case.
And lastly an inventory of this kind would also greatly benefit the
objectivity of historiographical debate. Certain unverified assumptions about
the causes of political violence are, explicitly or implicitly, central to the
judgements arrived at in most historical accounts. In this context, the
continuing debate about who was responsible for the murder of Matteotti which in Italy occupies a similarly central place to the one about the burning
of the Reichstag in Germany -can be said to be emblematic. The reproach
levelled at the De Felice school of historiography- that it tended to minimise
or exculpate Fascism- is based especially on its interpretation of the problem
of violence. Thus, someone like L. Valiani writes:
In De Felice's 'Interview' there is no mention of Fascism's acts ofviolence
and murders .... In the several volumes of his biography he does speak
about it, but only sketchily and in a manner that minimises the significance
of these crimes and exculpates Mussolini.... The violence of Fascism,
which did not stop at murder, as well as its impunity, were among the
essential reasons for its success. Thus it was able to tum squadrismo into a
nationwide armed force of decisive political importance and later to
establish a militia. 80
The events in present-day Italy have given us a keener eye for the problem of
violence. Yet there can be hardly anyone who would consider it legitimate to
compare the Italy of 1920 with that of 1979. And yet, there are pessimists who
s.peak of 'squadrismo 1979' and of the impending civil war of the 1980s. 81 A
more exact knowledge of the problems of violence in Italian society then and
now would prove useful.
NOTES
I.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
E. and D. Susmel (eds), Opera Omnia di Benito Mussolini, Vol. xx1 (Florence,
1953ff) p. 238f (in the following cited as 0.0.)
P. Togliatti, Opere scelte (Rome, 1974) p. 1030.
L. Salvatorelli and G. Mira, Storia d'Jtalia nel periodo fascista (Turin, 1957)
p. 168.
P. Farneti, 'La crisi della democrazia italiana e l'avvento del fascismo: 19191922', Rivista Italiana di scienza politica, 5 (1975) p. 49f.
W. Schieder, 'Faschismus' in Sowjetsystem und demokratische Gesellschaft Vol. 2
(Freiburg/Br., 1968) col. 454.
E. Nolte, Europa und die faschistischen Bewegungen, (Munich, 1968) p. 12, 75f,
101.
R. Cantagalli, Storia del fascismo jiorentino I 919I 1925 (Florence, 1972) p. 230.
II fascismo in Italia (Leningrad, 1926). R. De Felice (ed.), Studio inedito per i
quadri dell' Internazionale comunista (Milan, 1965) p. 107.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
297
298
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
59.
60.
61.
62.
63.
64.
65.
66.
67.
68.
69.
70.
71.
Jens Petersen
E. von Beckerath, Wesen und Werden des faschistischen Staates (Berlin, 1927)
p. 25.
Waldmann, Strategien, p. 43ff., 75ff.
A. Aquarone, Violenza e consenso nel fascismo italiano, Storia contemporanea,
10 (1979), pp. 145-55, p. l46f.
K.-P. Hoepke, Die deutsche Rechte und der italienische Faschismus (Dusseldorf,
Droste, 1968) passim.
Nolte, Faschismus, p. 186.
F. Turati, Levie maestre del socialismo (Bologna, 1921) p. 278, 295f.
Id., Socialismo e riformismo nella storia d'Jtalia, Scritti politici 1878-1932 (Milan,
1979) p. 437.
Matteotti, Scritti e discorsi, p. 186.
Ibid., pp. 127, 134, 196.
Ibid., p. 205.
I. Bonomi, Dieci anni di Politica Italiana (Milan, 1923) p. 257.
(F. Turati}, Discorsi di Filippo Turati, Vol. 3 (Rome, 1950) pp. 1938-40.
Atti del Parlamento italiano, Camera dei deputati, Legislatura XXVI, Vol. 8,
p. 8249f.
Cf. for'instance De Felice, Faschismus, p. 49ff.; J. Petersen, 'Die Entstehung des
Totalitarismusbegriffs in ltalien' in M. Funke (ed.) Totalitarismus (Dusseldorf,
1979) pp. 105-28.
Corradini, Discorsi politici, p. 459.
Atti del Parlamento italiano, Vol. 8, p. 8316f.
On 7 May 1898 General Bava Beccaria crushed a popular rising with great
ruthlessness and by employing the military. For the Italian left the 'events of
Milan' became axiomatic for military-reactionary rule.
F. Turati and A. Kuliscioff, Carteggio, Vol. 5, Doppoguerra e fascismo ( 1919-22)
(Turin, 1953) pp. 78, 80, 82.
U. Ojetti, I taccuini ( 1914-1943) (Florence, 1954); G. Prezzolini, Diario 19001941 (Milan, 1978).
0.0., XVIII, p. 13.
0.0., XX, p. 113.
0.0., XXI, p. 70.
Quoted from: Panorami do realizzazioni de/fascismo, Vol. 2: I grandi scomparsi e i
caduti della rivoluzione fascista (Rome, n.d.) p. 152.
G. Salvemini, Scritti sulfascismo, Vol. I (Milan, 1963) p. 62.
Barbarie rossa, Riassunto cronologico della gesta compiute dai socialisti italiani dal
1919 in poi, a cura del Comitato Centrale dei Fasci Italiani di Combattimento
(Rome, 1921).
Salvemini, Scritti sui fascismo, pp. 63, 554.
Ibid., p. 63.
Enciclopedia del/'antifascismo e della Resistenza, Vol. I (Milan, 1968) p. 414.
Salvemini, Scritti sui fascismo, p. 19.
Ibid., p. 19.
Enciclopedia, vol. 2, p. l8lf.
Salvemini, Scritti sui fascismo, p. 523 (he did this in his 'Harvard lectures' of
1943).
Quoted from G. Candeloro, Storia de/1'/talia contemporanea, vol. 8: La prima
guerra mondia/e, if doppoguerra, /'avvento del fascismo (Milan, 1978) p. 353.
Salvemini, Scritti sui fascismo, p. 63f. In 1943 Salvemini estimated the number of
victims of fascism to be considerably higher. 'Circa 3,000 persone persero Ia vita
per mano fascista durante i due anni die guerra civile.' (Scritti, p. 554.)
Ibid., p. 64.
299
301
No more practicable indicator of the actual extent of violence exists than the
number of victims it claims. Their number also represents that yardstick of
violence which enables us to compare and thus to quantify different forms of
political violence - at least with regard to its extent, although not in relation to
the public's perception of violence, nor the degree of its deliberateness and
thus moral reprehensibility. In the following I shall merely examine the annual
numbers of dead and seriously injured, which throughout the years under
review remained at a fairly constant ratio of I : 3. 7 A separate analysis of the
different categories of physical injury would produce practically the same
results.
The line traced in Fig. 18.1, by taking the number of victims (logarithmically transformed), shows the course of violence in Austria from 1919 to
1934. 8
--Victims of violence
~
----Registered unemployed
"ij
--------GNP
.:::: 1000
11.5 Bn.S
GNP
370,000
Unemployed
10. Bn.S
GNP
250,000
Unemployed
5.5 Bn.S
GNP
130,000
Unemployed
7. Bn.S
GNP
10,000
Unemployed
I
I
10
I
I
I
I
I 1
I I
I I
/\,
'-.I
u._~~--'---'---'-~-'---"---~...J.....-'--'-~-'----'-.J
1923
Figure 18.1:
1925
1927
1930
1934
302
Gerhard Botz
This shows that the years 1919 and 1920 (including the last quarter of 1918),
with a total number of casualties ranging from 76 to 124, compared to the six
years thereafter, stand out clearly as the period of' Austrian revolution'. 9 This
semi-revolutionary period saw the political and national reshaping of Austria,
within a social and political structure broken up by the aftermath of theW orld
War; at the same time however, in social and economic terms, the shift of
political weight from the traditional power elites of the Habsburg monarchy
to the industrial working class and the independent peasants as well as later to
the industrial bourgeoisie, was only a limited one. 10 After a brief period of
dominance by the Social Democratic working class, the 'Austrian revolution'
ended up in a kind of 'balance of class forces'.U
In the subsequent period of comparative internal stability, the political and
social distribution of power that had been established in 1918/20 remained
still relatively intact. 12 Only once during the period up to 1926- in 1923 - did
the annual number of casualties of violence exceed 20. Compared to other
periods of the First Republic these years thus appear relatively non-violent,
although compared to the Second Republic they were distinctly violent.
The 89 dead and at least 266 seriously injured during the workers' unrest of
15 July 1927 (the burning of the Palace of Justice), 13 which led to a police
massacre, mark the end of a state of comparative internal stability and of a still
broadly even distribution of weight between the forces of Left and Right,
before the first symptoms of the world economic crisis had even begun to be
observed in Austria.
Although in 1928 the stabilising forces within the political system once
again appeared to gain the upper hand, the first signs of the world slump of
1929 set in train a process of progressive destabilisation and the appearance of
fascist forces- first in the sltape of Heimwehren (home defence units), and
from 1932 onwards in the form of National Socialism and an increasing
marginalisation of the Social Democratic workers' movement. 14 Despite
considerable variations in the annual casualty figures (between 27 and 104),
the years between 1929 and 1933 were characterised by a marked tendency
towards increased political violence. In 1934, this period of latent civil war
finally turned into temporary open civil war (the Schutzbund revolt of
12 February, with a total of 320 deaths, and the National Socialist putsch of
25 July, with a total of 269 deaths) 15 and led to the replacement of a
parliamentary-democratic system of political rule and control by a semifascist authoritatian one. 16
A breakdown of the statistics on victims of violence according to political
affiliation indicates the dominant lines of conflict within Austrian society
along which political violence tended to occur. 17 Table 18.1 below shows the
total numbers of victims for each year as well as the political groupings which
were mainly involved in violent conflicts, according to their share in the
overall annual casualty figures. The casualties suffered by the state's organs of
coercion are distributed among the various political and social 'camps'
according to political weighting.
18.1:
1918
(from 12 Nov.)
1919
1920
No. of
victims
9
124
76
1921
1922
1923
(ll
%)
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
8
77
1930
40
1931
27
1932
104
1933
69
1934
(only Feb. 12
and Jul. 25)
303
567 19
(deaths only)
Source: G. Botz, 'Gewalt und politisch-gesellschaftlicher Konftikt in der Ersten Republik (1918
bis 1933)', IJsterreichische Zeitschrift fi.ir Politikwissenschaft, 4 (1975) p. 527.
Of the total figure of 859 victims of political violence (217 deaths and 642
serious injuries) for the period between 12 November 1918 and 11 February
1934, 16 per cent were Communists, 33 per cent Social Democrats, 15 per cent
members of the Heimwehr and the Catholic-conservative 'camp', 10 per cent
National Socialists; the remainder were other civilians (6 per cent) and
members of the state's executive (20 per cent).
304
Gerhard Botz
II
The annual variations in the levels of violence, set out in Table 18.1, broadly
correspond to the internal political conflict potential in general. 20 The forms
political violence took must therefore be seen against this background.
Politically, the conflict constellation of the 'Austrian revolution' was,
typically, a three-cornered one: left-wing radicals-Social-Democratic
workers-Catholic-conservative bourgeoisie. In 1919 the main battle lines of
violence ran between left-wing radicals (mostly Communists) on the one
hand, and Catholic-conservatives and Social Democrats, the coalition
partners in the federal government, on the other. In 1920 the same conflict
structure persisted, but was beginning to be superseded by a line-up of the
middle class against Social Democrats and other left-wing forces.
The type of violence associated with the largest number of victims during
the 'Austrian revolution' took the form ofunrests with political or economic
objectives, arising more or less spontaneously from demonstrations or
offences against property, with significant incidents of violence resulting as a
rule only from police intervention (as in the case of hunger demonstrations or
price revolts in the winter and spring of 1919 and 1920 in Linz and Graz). A
subsidiary branch of this type of violence were putschist actions- still of a
spontaneous nature- by left-wing radicals and Communists. 21 The social
base for such actions was provided in the main by the urban lower classes,
particularly the unemployed, invalids and war veterans. Spontaneous unrests
among the rural population, so-called 'peasant revolts', on the other hand,
involved considerably less violence. 22 During the 'Austrian revolution' these
types of violence were intimately linked to acute shortages of food and
consumer goods and deficient social security provisions; thus their incidence,
up to 1921, tended to increase during the winter and spring quarters.
Two less bloody forms of violent conflict were limited almost entirely to the
first months of the 'Austrian revolution'; once the climax of the revolutionary
movement had been passed by mid-1919, such actions also disappeared. One
of them consisted in insults to officers and was mainly directed against
members of the former imperial military apparatus, aristocrats and, to a lesser
degree, industrialists; very rarely, however, did such attacks reach the degree
of violence that might be described as serious bodily injury. Such acts, by small
groups or individuals, often inflicting more symbolic and psychological than
actual harm, were particularly frequent during the collapse of the AustroHungarian state apparatus in October and November 1918, an otherwise
almost completely non-violent phase. During the power vacuum and the
reshaping of the state's structures that followed, somewhat bloodier conflicts
began to set in between the members and formations of competing sectors of
the state apparatus, either as an accompaniment to the dissolution of the
Habsburg empire - where the exchanges of fire by troops belonging to the
emergent nation states constituted in effect a transitional form of inter-
305
national violence- or in the course of the formation of the new 'GermanAustrian' state, whose apparatus of coercion contained very different political
persuasions. 23
The animosity between the gendarmerie and the federal police, who
continued to be conservative-middle class in outlook, on the one hand, and
the newly formed 'marxist' Vo/kswehr (people's defence units) on the other,
found its direct expression in occasional shoot-outs between the two, but also
existed as a groundswell in mass disturbances when, during conflicts with the
police, parts of the Volkswehr took the side of the civilian population. But
even within the military apparatus itself the dissent between Communistdominated sections of the armed forces (Rote Garde, Deutschmeister,
Battailon Nr. 14) and the Social Democrat majority tended to break out
openly, and frequently very bloodily, during insurrectionist actions by leftwing radicals. 24 Acts of violence such as the disruption of meetings or joint
assaults on political adversaries still belong chronologically, though not
genetically, to the final phase of the 'Austrian revolution'. In the beginning it
was the Social Democrat and the Communist workers who were mainly
responsible for these. 2 ~ The fact that their middle-class adversaries were able
to come out with strong 'anti-Marxist' and anti-republican agitationparticularly during election campaigns -was a sign of the growing strength of
counter-revolutionary forces. The Left, on the other hand, had few other
means at its disposal beyond a barely organised but deliberate policy of
forcible intimidation by a relatively small number and this circumstance
signalled the end of its being able to mobilise a revolutionary rank and file. It
was only during the next stage, the period of collision, that this particular form
of political violence became the germinating cell for the prevalent type of
violence.
If we summarise the most important trends in violence during the 'Austrian
revolution', we can say that the increasingly revolutionary movement of the
rank and file, until it reached its climax in the spring of 1919, had achieved its
remarkable (but by no means total) political and social successes by nonviolent or relatively unviolent means. Within a few weeks after the start of the
'Austrian revolution', the impact of revolutionary ideas had already begun to
lessen; at the same time, however, rank-and-file support became both more
radical and more narrowly based. Correspondingly, there was a trend towards
a decline in mass support and spontaneity, and a greater degree of planning
and organisation of violent conflicts, coupled with an increase in the danger of
the weapons used. Numerous spontaneous forms of violence, difficult to
categorise in party-political terms and usually directed against property,
nevertheless remained a phenomenon of this period and disappeared only
gradually. In inverse proportion to this, the executive's harshness in the
repression of violence directed against the system grew.
The period of relative stability brought no change in the 'anti-Marxist''Marxist' pattern of conflict, although until 1926 this remained at a relatively
306
Gerhard Botz
307
308
Gerhard Botz
309
1933 brought a further form of violence into the political battle field, hitherto
unknown in Austrian history: systematic bomb terror. Its objectives ranged
from purely demonstrative purposes to deliberately lethal attacks. 33 During
the months of impending illegality and also after the NSDAP had been
proscribed as a party, this particular form of violence replaced the other most
frequent one so far, i.e. clashes between paramilitarily organised private
armies.
The logical final stage of latent civil war came with the two outbreaks of
battles between the three 'camps', each lasting several days and involving large
numbers of people. In formal terms, both civil wars show a certain
resemblance: both cases were a mixture of spontaneity and long-term
planning, of a high and a low level of organisation. In both cases, when the
fighting began, an already proscribed paramilitary formation stood at the
centre of the action. Yet there were also significant differences. The rather
broad participation of the SA in the Austrian regions in July 1934 is thus to be
regarded merely as the (unplanned) consequence of the SS's operations in
Vienna, which followed the classical pattern of a military putsch. The
participation of the 'Marxist' workers' movement in the attempted insurrection of the Upper-Austrian Republikanische Schutzbundin FebrlJary 1934, on
the other hand, which would have been necessary to provide the required
backing, did not occur to the extent the insurgents had hoped for. 34 In
typological terms, the 12 February 1934 ought thus to be seen as a defensive
insurrection attempt, the 25 July 1934, on the other hand, as a putschist attempt
to seize power.
Looking at the period between 1918 and 1934 as a whole, one finds that the
groups in opposition to the system were usually also the ones most strongly
involved in violent conflicts, for they, in trying to assert their social objectives,
possessed few non-violent alternative means. Thus, from a position of
weakness, they tended to take the offensive and resort to violence, only to be
regarded as a serious threat by the social groupings controlling the state and to
be held down all the more repressively by them.
Table 18.2 below provides a systematic listing of the most significant forms
of violence which occurred in the First Republic, according to the number of
participants (or duration of violence) and the conflicting parties' degree of
organisation.
Acts of violence committed by individuals or very small groups, especially
the merely structured or amorphous forms, were a feature throughout the
entire period of the First Republic, even though the frequency of their
incidence tended to vary. The 'Austrian revolution' was characterised in
particular by forms of violence which, while involving mass participation,
were marked by little or no organisation.
The period of relative political equilibrium saw forms of violence with every
level of participation; the less they were organised, the greater the number who
310
Gerhard Botz
TABLE
18.2:
Number of participants:
duration of violence:
Degree of organisation
organised
structured
Assassination
Feme-murder
Bomb-terror
Clash
Coup d'etat
Putsch
Clash
Putschist
action
Insurrection
Lynching
Riot
Unrests
{ A.sault
Clash
amorphous
Insults
Political
brawls
took part and, conversely, the more highly organised they were, the smaller
the circle of participants. The period of latent civil war, typically, showed
highly organised forms of violence at all levels of participation.
The state authorities, as a rule, were the immediate target only of the forms
of violence involving many participants; both workers and the urban lower
cla!lses, but also the peasants, were particularly active in mass violence of little
or no organisation. Participation by the very young or the 'middle class', on
the other hand, is a characteristic feature of all variants of organised
individual violence, and this also corresponds to the prevalence of National
Socialists in this type of violence.
In sociographica/ terms, the supporters of predominantly organised or
structured forms of violence, ranging from a few to large numbers of
participants, may be described in a rather compressed form as follows:
Over-represented among the supporters of political violence (in comparison
to society as a whole and also to the non-'militants' within the individual
'camps') are urban and metropolitan youths and young men (under thirty),
particularly in the case of the National Socialists, to a lesser degree in that of
the Social Democrats. Because of the conflicting parties' paramilitary forms of
organisation, women and girls are ihvolved in this type of violence only in
exceptional instances.
Particularly disposed towards violence also were the members of groups not
(or not yet) firmly incorporated into working life, and therefore with the
necessary time and mobility to take part in political violence, i.e. especially the
unemployed, war veterans, invalids (and adolescents). The 'lower' strata of
almost all social classes and groups, who appear as 'representative' for these
classes or groups as a whole, appear to be particularly predisposed to political
violence: students and youngsters in secondary education representing the
liberal professions and civil servants, the sons of peasants, tradesmen and
merchants deputising for their fathers, unskilled workers and apprentices for
311
skilled workers and craftsmen. Workers in general are more numerous among
the 'militants' than among the simple members of the individual 'camps'.
The generation of former soldiers, who had fought in the First World War
as very young men, especially officers and non-commissioned officers,
provided an important reservoir for the supporters of violence. 35
III
As may be seen from the previous section, violence appears often associated
with political radicalism and social fringe groups. Indeed, for violence on any
scale between political and social 'camps' to occur at all, it requires a prior
process of political marginalisation of at least one of the political 'camps'
involved. This conclusion may be drawn from the Communists' putschist
actions on the Maundy Thursday of 1919 and on 15 June 1919, but equally
from the two outbreaks of civil war in 1934.
According to the three Tillys, 36 the causes for this must be sought in the
following facts: for a powerful group, which, if it deserves this attribute, also
stands in close relation to the apparatus of rule, active use of violence is hardly
worthwhile. The incidental social costs of (direct) violence very frequently
exceed its immediate usefulness, unless those in power are confronted by a
serious challenge to their position. The converse holds true for groups which
are either far removed from power or without it altogether, since, firstly, the
signalling effect attaching to the use of violence, or being turned into the
victim of violence, may evoke hidden sympathies or support from sections of
the established power groups, and secondly, because those with little power
have very few alternative courses of legal action open to them; consequently,
the probability of coming to violence by way of illegality is great and -in view
of the state's threat of sanctions -causes them to drift even further from the
socially accepted rules of the political game. Finally, purposeful and bloody
terrorism may well strengthen the power position of groups with little power,
by discrediting the power of the government, especially in areas where the
latter already suffers from a power vacuum, as was the case in the First
Austrian Republic.
This general framework needs to be borne in mind when turning, as we do
now, to the explicit strategies of violence developed by political parties and
movements in Austria between 1918 and 1934. We may be unable to reach
more than provisional conclusions, but this is inevitable, given the absence of
any appropriate analyses that go beyond the mere examination of programmatic or theoretical declarations.
First of all we have to consider one strategy of violence which, while highly
developed in practice, tended to be too easily overlooked, that is to say, the
strategy and tactics in the deployment of the state's forces of order, especially
the police. An actual or anticipated infraction of 'law and order', which by
312
Gerhard Botz
definition should precede any action by the police, would seem to impose a
reactive strategy on the state in the exercise of its monopoly of coercion; this,
however, was (and still is) not always the case. Yet even reactive strategies in
the deployment of the police, and particularly the threshold where violence
sets in, show a very broad range of variation, according to specific cultural
particularities or the composition of the ruling social groupings and classes.
Thus the police strategies vis-a-vis disturbances of order from Left or Right
respectively varied considerably. 37
As long as the state apparatus was still weak and the revolutionary
movement unspecific but broadly based -which was the case until around
April 1919 -the executive's response to spontaneous disturbances, even in
cases of deliberate political infractions oflaw and order (such as setting fire to
the parliament building on 17 April 1919) and during lethal attacks on the
police, was a careful and defensive protection of property coupled with
peaceful persuasion. The employment of Social Democratic leaders and of
soldiers' and workers' councils to mediate, and to legitimise the means of
violence deployed made it possible to settle even critical situations with little
or no violence. By means of this strategy, Vienna's (German Nationalist) chief
of police Schober was able to establish his reputation as a man of 'order',
which later gave him access to the highest political offices. Even after the
'revolutionary' constellation of power had ceased to exist, Schober's police
apparatus still tended to exercise restraint in the use of extreme measures.
Once the revolutionary movements had lost some of its breadth, but had
gained in Bolshevik direction and radicalism that posed a threat to the system
and also brought it into conflict with large sections of Social Democratic
opinion, the police practices changed. Both during the Communist's putschist
action of 15 June 1919 in Vienna and during hunger and inflation disturbances
in the provincial capitals in 1920 they were given fairly indiscriminate orders
to clear the streets and to shoot. When the events of 15 July 1927 escalated into
the burning of the Palace of Justice and involved considerable loss of life
(almost exclusively among civilians) this was due, at least to some extent, to an
extremely forceful if uncoordinated and patchy deployment of the police with
mounted and armed men.
The consequence of this trial of strength, which ended in a victory for the
'middle-class' government side, was that henceforth the executive's strategy
against the Left became increasingly ruthless, while its attitude to threats to
the constitution from the Right was one, if not of open cooperation, at least of
compliance and tolerance. Thus, different strategies of repression and control
were employed which varied according to the political and social origins of the
disturbers of law and order.
The Austrian Communists' strategy of violence manifested itself during
their spontaneous putschist actions of 17 April and 15 June, 1919 in Vienna.
The earlier charge by 'Red Guards' on the parliament building, on the
313
314
Gerhard Botz
315
316
Gerhard Botz
317
entertained close relations with virtually all levels of the state apparatus, the
only exception being the Viennese municipal and regional administrations.
The state's executive, or at least sections of it, had always been at its disposal.
This may create the impression that this 'camp' had a strictly legalistic
orientation throughout. No doubt, quite a few middle-class politicians
recoiled from an open break with legality, even at a time when, as in the
early 1930s, notions about 'true democracy', 'the authoritarian state',
undemocratic, dictatorial forms of government had already gained strong
currency also among Christian-Socialists (and German-Nationalists). This is
not to say, however, that the same group of politicians had not already in
1920, in cooperation with Hungarian counter-revolutionaries, entertained
serious plans for the overthrow of a coalition government that gave them only
a half-share of power. 53 At various times in later years as well, plans for a coup
d'etat played an important role among large sections of the middle-class
parties. When DollfuB set aside parliamentary democracy in March 1933, this
constituted in effect a sort of 'cold' coup d'etat, carried out by stages. 54
In the day-to-day political skirmishing of the inter-war period, however,
this 'camp' did employ auxiliary troups which operated outside the law and
used violent means: the early Heimwehr formations, the monarchist Ostara,
the 'War Veterans' Association' etc., were without exception proto- or semifascist organisations. If these were able to opetate as independently, as the
heterogeneous collection of organisations that had come together in the
Heimwehr had been able to do since 1927, and to build up their own party
organisations, the essential criteria for a fascist movement were in effect
already met.
These right-wing radical- and, later on, blatantly fascist- formations had
already in the early 1920s practised an offensive version of the Social
Democrats' defensive strategy of violence, especially in those regions of
Austria where they could command a broad social base. 55 This indicates a
constant interplay between the Left's and the Right's strategies of violence,
which determined their further development. The Schutzbundlater copied this
strategy, thus provoking in its turn a further mobilisation of its opponents and
a general exacerbation of the climate of violence. The fact that right-wing
radical and fascist formations had taken the lead, at least initially, in the
deadliness of their weapons and the readiness of their use explains why the
casualties until 1927, as we have seen earlier, were so unevenly distributed
among the warring factions.
As time went on, the Heimwehr developed- not least under the influence of
Italian fascists and Hungarian reactionaries -a strategy of mass marches
designed systematically to encircle 'Red Vienna' and other citadels of Social
Democracy, and make them ripe for a takeover, along the lines of the Italian
model. Such a provocative display of Heimwehr formations in the middle of
industrial centres and working class districts (with the blessings of the
318
Gerhard Botz
Catholic clergy and the protection of the state authorities), tightening their
formations in ever closer circles around Vienna, meant a symbolic breaking of
the 'Reds' monopoly of the street', and with it a psychological weakening of
the 'Austro-Marxists'. The latter did indeed perceive it in this way. Yet when
the Social Democrats took up the challenge and deployed their Schutzbund, it
often required only a minor incident for shooting and violent street-fighting to
break out. Virtually every Sunday during the late 1920s saw, by now almost
automatic, collisions between marchers and counter-marchers especially in
the industrial regions of Upper Styria and Lower Austria.
A planned putsch attempt by the Heimwehr may well have taken this
automatic triggering of violence into account. Sections of the middle-class
parties, for all their sympathy with the Heimwehr, were nevertheless hostile to
the idea of the latter establishing a dictatorship. For this reason, many
Heimwehr-leaders, as well as some of their Christian-Socialist backers (such as
Anton Rintelen in Styria) hoped that by provoking clashes with the
Schutzbund they might tempt the latter into larger-scale hostilities or even an
attempted coup d'etat. This in turn was to be answered by a counter-blow from
the Heimwehr, acting in conjunction with police and army. The expected
defeat of the 'reds' was thus to lead to a reconstruction of Austria on fascist
lines, unfettered by any constitutional constraints.
This was also the political background to street fights such as the one at St
Lorenzen of 18 August 1929. On these occasions the Schutzbund acted with
restraint, while on the Christian-Socialist side there were reasonable men as
well who were able to curb the hotheads within their own and the Heimwehr's
ranks. Without the active participation of the state executive, most of the
Heimwehr leaders did not in any case feel strong enough to attempt a putsch. 56
When the leader of the radical, pro-Nazi Styrian Heimatschutz (home
defence), Walter Pfrimer, fearing a possible defeat of the Austrian variant of
fascism that was the Heimwehr decided, on 13 September 1931, to bring about
a 'march on Vienna' after all, his attempt failed miserably in the face of the
Schutzbund's counter-measures and the army's initial neutrality and subsequent hesitant intervention. 57
The thesis that the Schutzbund's attempted insurrection of February 1934
had been deliberately provoked by the Heimwehr remains a matter of heated
controversy among scholars of Austrian history, but is certainly not an
improbable one. What decided the issue in any case was that the Schutzbund,
weakened as it was by mass unemployment, the political retreat of the party
leadership, and by being banned for almost eleven months, was bound to be
defeated, if attacked jointly by the executive and the Heimwehr, even if
circumstances had been a little more favourable. 59
If the Heimwehr from time to time showed signs of recoiling from the use of
the most brutal means of violence, this was not the case with the National
Socialists, who proclaimed and practised 'ruthless violence against bestial
terror', 60 both towards 'Marxists' and Jews. And it was National Socialism,
319
too, which produced the greatest variety in the forms and strategies of
violence.
It was also the one political alignment which unreservedly proclaimed the
use of individual terror for the realisation of its political aims, irrespective of
what their party leaders at home and abroad declared. The fascists' very
personalised perception of politics did, in effect, lead them to hope for
profound political changes from their scarcely concealed calls to assassinate
Social Democrat party leaders, Jewish authors or politicians and even
Christian-Socialist Chancellors. As early as March 1925, a lone operator was
to obey this call and carry out such an attempt, without implicating his party
by having any direct accessory or collaborator. Thus from 1924 onwards, a
full-blown murder campaign was conducted by the entire volkisch press,
finding expression in the attempted assassination of Seipel, disguised as a
carnival joke, by a Nazi gym-teacher from Vienna, Kaspar Hellering, as well
as in murderous attempts on several Social Democrat politicians and the
Jewish writer Hugo Bettauer. The latter eventually fell victim to a young Nazi
who had obeyed the injunction. Other assassination attempts, like those on
the life of DollfuB and Steidle in the early 1930s, were carried out in a similar
manner.
A strategy of more far-reaching consequence was the National Socialists'
'stormtroop terror'. This was embarked upon in an unmistakable manner in
1923, immediately after Hitler had begun to establish his influence also among
Austrian National Socialists. The ostensible occasion for implementing this
strategy was usually provided by Nazi rallies in working-class districts; their
supposed protection against the rising anger of the 'Marxist' workers was to
be provided by armed and partly uniformed gangs, who were not registered
with the authorities. The resulting (unequal) clashes were thus part of a
carefully worked out programme. The middle-class Neue Freie Presse
reported such incidents as follows:
The particular characteristic of these incidents in the outer districts (of
Vienna) is that the National Socialists seek to penetrate the Social
Democrats' headquarters ... Tactics of such extreme boldness were
bound to be regarded as a provocation and it was only to be expected that
daring ruses of this kind would elicit an even fiercer response, and that in the
face of this kind of offensive a counter-offensive is being taken. 61
What the instructions were which prepared these 'disciplinary units', the
Vaterliindische Schutzbund (the patriotic defence league) and later the SA for
their tasks, can be gleaned from National Socialist newspaper articles,
amounting to a veiled call to murder:
Instead of waiting until a Jewish hireling, under the protection of darkness,
320
Gerhard Botz
321
(a)
Small-scale street terror against anything that stands for black-andyellow in word, print or picture.
(b) Disruption of all meetings and conferences of this nature.
(c) To increase the emotional turbulence until conditions are ripe for
'everything'.
(d) A call to all would-be suicides, that if they wanted to die to choose a
hero's death, taking with them a few of those responsible for their
distress. Provided this propaganda is skilfully handled, the persons
who should be the targets can be nicely pushed into the foreground.
(e) To blow up goods trains, for instance of wine or industrial products,
etc. 64
The object of these violent measures was to strike a death blow at an Austria
already hard hit by the world slump and to combine this with external
economic measures on the part of the German Reich (the 1000-Mark limit):
'The present government must not be allowed a quiet moment'. 65
In the event, this strategy failed to achieve complete success, as did the
attempted putsch of 25 July 1934. It was only the combination of three very
different strategies for the seizure of power -the infiltration of government
and adminstrative posts from the inside, the generation of pressure from
below by relatively non-violent street demonstrations, but most of all the
military intervention from outside -which eventually brought the National
Socialists to power in March 1938. 66
IV
The emphasis placed, so far, on the element of strategy and tactics might
suggest that the acts of political violence which occurred in the First
Republic can be adequately explained by the processes of political and
strategic decision-making within organisations and groups capable of exercising power. In order to correct this impression, the following analysis of the
causes of violence, by way of conclusion, deals with these in macro-historical
terms.
In the process of transition from a predominantly agrarian to a predominantly industrial society, the First Republic occupied an interim position. 67
Transitional stages of this kind tend to be characterised by an uneven growth
(or decline) of individual sectors of the economy, by concentration in the
structure of ownership, and by changes in the distribution of incomes, etc;
they are frequently marked also by great social tensions, political instability
and a high level of violence. Highly developed as well as completely traditional
countries, on the other hand, tend towards political stability and a low level
of violence. 68 Social change, particularly if it takes place abruptly or is
interrupted -which is the case in most societies at an intermediate level of
322
Gerhard Botz
323
324
Gerhard Botz
While change in econol!lic growth compared to the previous year does not
produce a direct effect;- albeit an indirect one by way of unemployment- the
previous year's unemployment rate constitutes by far the most significant
TABLE
Year
Casualties
of violence
(deaths and
serious
injuries)
Log. of
casualty
figures
increased
by a
factor of 1
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
124
76
2
5
22
10
8
0
274
8
77
40
27
104
69
1932
2.097
1.886
0.477
0.778
1.362
1.041
0.954
0.0
2.439
0.954
1.892
1.613
1.447
2.021
1.845
3.286
Strong
Growth of Unemployment
involvement
GNP in real
rate (as %
by executive
of labour
terms, in %.
(more than
force)
compared to
1 death on
previous
the govt.
year ( = 100)
side= 1,
otherwise = 0)
0.1
6.9
10.7
9.0
- 1.1
11.7
6.8
1.6
3.1
4.6
1.5
2.8
8.0
-10.3
3.3
0.8
9.2
2.0
1.4
3.4
6.6
5.8
7.9
9.4
9.2
8.5
8.9
11.2
14.2
18.3
20.3
18.8
1
I
0
0
0
0
0
0
I
0
0
0
0
0
0
I
325
NOTES
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
Cf. K.-D. Knodel, Der Begriff der Gewalt im Strafrecht (Munich, 1962) p. 3;
W. Fuchs et al. (eds), Lexikon zur Soziologie (Opladen, 1973) p. 247.
Cf. for instance L.A. Coser, Theorie sozialer Konfiikte (Neuwied, 1972) p. 142fT.,
178fT.; A. L. Nieburg, Political Violence: The Behavioral Process (New York,
1969) p. 13; H. Davis Graham and T. R. Gurr (eds), The History of Violence in
America: Historical and Comparative Perspectives (New York, 1969);
E. Zimmermann, Soziologie der politischen Gewalt (Stuttgart, 1977).
More extensively treated in my contribution 'Formen und Intensitiit politischsozialer Konflikte in der Ersten und Zweiten Republik' to the symposium 'Deux
fois l'Autriche: Apres 1918 et apres 1945', Rouen, 8-12 Nov. 1977, Austriaca,
Cahiers universitaires d'information sur I' Autriche, no. special 3 ( 1979) p. 428fT.
as well as in my (unpublished) scenario Bedingungen 'sozialen Friedens' und
politischer Gewalt in Perioden wirtschaftlicher Krisen in Osterreich (lnstitut fiir
Konfliktforschung, Vienna, 1978) (a more comprehensive publication on this
subject is being prepared for the Studienreihe Konfliktforschung, Vienna).
T. Nardin, Violence and the State: A Critique of Empirical Political Theory
(Beverly Hills-London, 1971) p. 66.
M. Weber in J. Winckelmann (ed.), Wirtschaft undGesellschaft. (Cologne, 1964)
p. 1042f.
The most comprehensive and most recent publication on Austria: B. Marin (ed.),
Wachstumskrisen in Osterreich?, vol. II: Szenarios (Vienna, 1979); cf. more
generally also: Geschichte und Gesellschaft 3 (1977), especially the contributions
by Ch. Tilly and H. Volkmann.
See G. Botz, Gewalt in der Politik: Attentate, ZusammenstoBe, Putschversuche,
Unruhen in Osterreich 1918-1934 (Munich, 1976) p. 235fT.
What argues for the use of the decadic logarithm in calculating annual casualty
figures, increased by a factor of 1, are theoretical considerations (see also below,
Section IV) and the demands imposed by the regression model (H. M. Blalock,
Jr., Social Statistics, 2nd. edn. (Tokyo, 1972) p. 408fT; K. Holm (ed.), Die
Befragung 5 (Munich, 1977) p. 70f., 124fT.
0. Bauer, 'Die osterreichische Revolution (1923)' in id., Werkausgabe, vol. 2
(Vienna, 1976) pp. 489-865.
Ibid., p. 743fT.; F. L. Carsten, Revolutionen in Mitteleuropa 1918/19 (Cologne,
1973) p. 23fT. A comprehensive bibliography on this and the First Republic as a
whole most recently, U. Kluge, 'Das Dilemma der Demokratie', Neue Politische
Literatur 23 (1978) pp. 219-47; cf. generally also D. Lehnert, Die Epoche der
Revolution amEnde des Ersten Weltkrieges 1917-1920, (schriftliches) Referat auf
der 'lntemationalen Tagung der Historiker der Arbeiterbewegung, 15. Linzer
Konferenz', (Linz, 11-15 Sept., 1979).
0. Bauer, 'Das Gleichgewicht der Klassenkriifte', Der Kampf 17 (1924)
pp. 57-fJ7.
326
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
Gerhard Botz
Cf. generally H. Hautmann and R. Kropf, Die osterreichische Arbeiterbewegung
vom Vormiirz his 1945, 3rd edn. (Vienna, 1978) p. 125fT.
See most recently: R. Neck and A. Wandruszka (eds), Die Ereignisse des 15. Juli
1927 (Vienna, 1979).
Cf. N. Leser, Zwischen Reformismus und Bolschewismus (Vienna, 1968) p. 449fT.;
H. Mommsen, Arbeiterbewegung und Nationale Frage (Gottingen, 1979) p. 345fT.
K. R. Stadler, Opfer verlorener Zeiten (Vienna, 1974) p. 44; G. Jagschitz, Der
Putsch: Die Nationalsozia/isten in Osterreich (Graz, 1976) p. 167; cf. also
L. Jedlicka and R. Neck (eds), Das Jahr 1934: 12. Februar (Vienna, 1975); id.,
(eds), Das Jahr 1934: 25. Ju/i (Vienna, 1975).
See E. Holtmann, Zwischen Unterdruckung und Befreiung: Sozialistische Arbeiterbewegung und autoritiires Regime in Osterreich 1933-1938 (Vienna, 1978)
p. 42fT.
On the modus of the break down see G. Botz, 'Gewalt und politisch-gesellschaftlicher Konflikt in der Ersten Republik (1918 his 1933)', Osterreichische
Zeitschrift fur Politikwissenschaft 4 (1975) p. 526.
'Austro-fascist' in this context is meant as a general designation of those
political groupings that stood behind the DollfuB government. On the term
'Austro-fascism' see in particular: W. Holzer, 'Faschismus in Osterreich 19181938', Austriaca no. special 1 (1978) pp. 69-170. F. L. Carsten, Faschismus in
Osterreich (Munich, 1977) p. 211fT.
There exist only rough estimates as to the number of(seriously) injured, see Note
15.
On the absence of a social history of the Austrian Republic in the inter-war years
see Ch. A. Gulick, Osterreich von Habsburg zu Hitler, abbrev. edn. (Vienna,
1976); H. Benedikt (ed.), Geschichte der Republik Osterreich (Vienna, 1977);
K. R. Stadler, Austria (London, 1971 ); also G. Otruba, ' "Bauer" und "Arbeiter"
in der Ersten Republik' in Geschichte und Gesellschaft: Festschrift fur Karl R.
Stadler zum 60. Geburtstag (Vienna, 1974) pp. 57-98; 0. Leichter, Glanz und
Elend der Ersten Republik (Vienna, 1964); B. Skotsberg, Der osterreichische
Parlamentarismus (Goteborg, 1940); K. Ausch, Als die Bankenfielen (Vienna,
1968); see further literature also in P. Malina and G. Spann, Bibliographie zur
osterreichischen Zeitgeschichte 1918-1978 (Vienna, 1978).
Botz, Gewa/t, p. 44fT.; H. Hautmann, Die verlorene Riiterepub/ik, 2nd revised edn.
(Vienna, 1971), p. 145fT.; 179fT.; J. Deutsch, Aus Osterreichs Revolution (Vienna,
1921) p. 54fT.
Carsten, Revolutionen, p. 252fT.; cf. also A. Staudinger, 'Die Ereignisse in den
Liindern Deutschosterreichs im Herbst 1919' in L. Jedlicka, Ende und Anfang
(Salzburg, 1969) p. 78; E. R. Starhemberg, Memoiren (Vienna, 1971) p. 37f.;
A. Rintelen, Erinnerungen an Osterreichs Weg (Munich, 1941) p. 40f.;
K. Schuschnigg, Dreimal Osterreich (Vienna, 1937) p. 67; more generally also
Botz, Gewalt, pp. 22-86 (on the following also ibid., pp. 87-280).
L. Jedlicka, Ein Heer im Schatten der Parteien (Graz, 1955) p. 16.
Deutsch, Osterreichs Revolution, p. 33fT., 47fT., 110fT.
Cf. for instance J. Deutsch, Die Faschistengefahr (Vienna, 1923) p. 12fT.;
L. Kunschak, Steinchen vom Wege (Vienna, 1952) p. 78f.; Rintelen,
Erinnerungen, p. 106, 11 Off.
G. Botz, 'Bewaffnete ZusammenstoBe und Strategie des friihfaschistischen
Terrors in Osterreich, Teil I und II', Archiv. Mitteilungsb/att des Vereins der
Geschichte fur Arbeiterbewegung (1973) pp. 41-50, 58-68.
Kriegsarchiv Wien (Bundesheer, 1927); Assistenzberichte; L. Jedlicka and R.
Neck (eds), Osterreich 1927 his 1938 (Vienna, 1973) p. 31fT.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
327
Akten der Untersuchungskommission des Wiener Gemeinderates, Allg. Verwaltungsarchiv Wien, Christl.-soz. Partei Wien, box 16; R. Danneberg, Die Wahrheit iiber die 'Po/izeiaktion' am 15. Juli (Vienna, 1927); Ausschreitungen in Wien
am 15. und 16. Juli 1927: Wei6buch, (Vienna: Polizeidirektion, 1927).
E. C. Kollman, Theodor Korner (Munich, 1973) p. 191ff.; I. Duczynska, Der
demokratische Bolschewik (Munich, 1975) p. 109.
R. Neck, 'Simmering, 16. Oktober 1932- Vorspiel zum Biirgerkrieg', in:
L. Jedlicka and R. Neck (eds), Vom Justizpa/ast zum Heldenp/atz (Vienna, 1975)
pp. 94-102.
J. Hofmann, Der Pfrimerputsch (Vienna, 1965); B. F. Pauley, Hahnenschwanz
und Hakenkreuz (Vienna, 1972).
L. Kerekes, Abenddiimmerung einer Demokratie (Vienna, 1966).
Das Braunbuch: Hakenkreuz gegen Osterreich (Vienna: the Bundeskanzleramt,
1933); Jagschitz, Putsch, p. 3lff.
Cf. for instance K. Peball, Die Kiimpfe in Wien im Februar 1934 (Vienna, 1974);
H. Fiereder, 'Der Republikanische Schutzbund in Linz und die
Kampfhandlungen im Februar 1934', in Historisches Jahrbuch der Stadt Linz
1978 (Linz, 1979) pp. 201-48; A. Reisberg, Februar 1934 (Vienna, 1974); K.
Haas, 'Der "12. Februar 1934" als historiographisches Problem' in Jedlicka and
Neck (eds), Justizpa/ast, pp. 156-67.
G. Botz, 'Die "Juli-Demonstranten", ihre Motive und die quantifizierbaren
Ursachen des "15. Juli 1927'", in: Neck and Wandruszka (eds), Ereignisse,
pp. 17-59; Botz, Gewalt, p. 238ff.
Ch. Tilly, L. Tilly and R. Tilly, The Rebellious Century 1830-1930 (Cambridge,
Mass., 1975) p. 283.
P. Waldmann, Strategien politischer Gewalt (Stuttgart, 1977) p. 78ff.; unless
indicated otherwise, the following arguments are based on my work: Gewalt in der
Politik.
328
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
59.
60.
61.
62.
63.
64.
65.
66.
67.
68.
69.
70.
71.
72.
73.
Gerhard Botz
Tagblatt (Linz), 13/9/1925, Tagblatt-Archiv, Mappe "Sd-Gewalt", Arbeiterkammer Wien, Dokumentationsabteilung.
See: Allg. Verwaltungsarchiv Wien, Soz.-dem. Parteistellen, Karton 6, Mappe
'Sitzungsprotokolle 1921-1928', Protokoll der Vorstandssitzung (der Vereinigung der sozialdemokratisch organiserten Angestellten und Bediensteten der
Stadt Wien) vom 26. Juli 1927, Aufnahmeschrift mit Karl Reder; also
Ausschreitungen in Wien, as above, p. l4lf.
Leser, Reformismus, p. 413f.
L. Kerekes, Die 'WeiBe Allianz', Osterreichische Osthefte 7 (1965) p. 360ff.; see
also H. G. W. Nusser, Konservative Wehrverbiinde in Bayern, PreuBen und
Osterreich 1918-1933 (Munich, 1973) L. Rape, Die osterreichischen Heimwehren
und die bayerische Rechte 1920-1923 (Vienna, 1977).
P. Huemer, Sektionschef Robert Hecht und die Zerstorung der Demokratie in
Osterreich (Vienna, 1975).
Carsten, Faschismus, p. 63ff., l04ff.; Rape, Heimwehren, p. ll6ff.
F. Winkler, Die Diktatur in Osterreich (Zurich, 1953) p. 27f.; E. Ludwig,
Osterreichs Sendung im Donauraum (Vienna, 1954) p. 68.
Hofmann, Pfrimerputsch, p. 69ff.; Jedlicka, Heer, p. 90.
R. Neck, 'Thesen zum Februar' in Jedlicka and Neck (eds), Justizpalast, p. l54f.;
also in Jedlicka and Neck (eds.), 12. Februar, p. 2lf.
Peball, Kiimpfe, p. l9f., 37ff.
Grobian (Salzburg, l/8/1923), p. 4.
Neue Freie Presse (5/5/1923), p. l.
Grobian (15/8/1923), p. 3f.
R. de Felice, Mussolini ilfascista: /.La conquista del potere (Turin, 1966) p. 34ff.;
A. Tasca, Glauben, gehorchen, kiimpfen: Aufstieg des Faschismus (Vienna, 1969)
p. l29ff.
Dokumentationsarchiv des osterreichischen Widerstandes, Wien, Dok. Nr.
2162; Braunbuch, as above, p. 23.
Braunbuch, as above, p. 15; Jagschitz, Putsch, p. 34ff.
For details see my study: Vom AnschluB zum Krieg (Vienna, 1978) p. l07ff.
K. W. Rothschild, 'Wurzeln und Triebkriifte der Entwicklung der Osterreichischen Wirtschaftsstruktur' in W. Weber (ed.), Osterreichs Wirtschaftsstruktur gestern -heute -morgen, vol. l (Vienna, 1961) p. l6ff.
I. K. Feierabend and R. L. Feierabend, 'Aggressive Behaviour within Politics,
1948-1962' inJ. Chowming Davies(ed.), When Men Revolt and Why(New York,
1971) p. 236ff.; id. and B. A. Nesvold, 'Social Change and Political Violence' in
Davis Graham and Gurr (eds), History of Violence, p. 653ff.; T. R. Gurr, 'A
Comparative Study of Civil Strife' in ibid. p. 572ff.
See T. R. Gurr, Rebellion: Eine Motivationsanalyse von Aufruhr, Konspiration und
innerem Krieg (Dusseldorf, 1972) p. 33ff.
P. H. Merkl, Political Violence under the Swastika (New Jersey, 1975) p. l54ff.; K.
Renner, Osterreich von der Ersten zur Zweiten Republik (Vienna, 1953) p. ll7ff.
On this see my articles: 'Streik in Osterreich 1918 bis 1975' in G. Botz eta/. (eds),
Bewegung und Klasse: Studien zur osterreichischen Arbeitergeschichte (Vienna,
1978) pp. 807-31; and 'Politische Gewalt und industrielle Arbeitskiimpfe in
Wirtschaftskrisen', in Marin, Wachstumskrisen, pp. 260-306.
M. Jahoda, P. F. Lazarsfeld and H. Zeisel, Die Arbeitslosen von Marienthal, 2nd
edn. (Allensbach, 1960) p. 42ff., 83f.
D. Stiefel, Arbeitslosigkeit: Soziale, politische und wirtschaftliche Auswirkungen am Beispiel Osterreichs 1918-1938 (Berlin, 1979); see generally also K. W.
Rothschild, Arbeitslosigkeit in Osterreich 1955-1975 (Linz, 1977) p. 20ff.
329
This value results from a comparison between the multiple defining quantity R 2
for regression equations of economic growth and unemployment, once inclusive
once exclusive of the time lag in casualty figures.
75. Cf. also Ch. Tilly, 'Revolution and Collective Violence', in F. I. Greenstein and
N. W. Polsby (eds), Handbook of Political Science, vol. 3 (Reading, Mass., 1975)
p. 515.
76. The quantitative values used here are given in the Appendix (Table 18.3). Sources
for them in Botz, Politische Gewa/t, p. 26lf. (Notes 7-9).
74.
19 Anti-Democratic Terror in
the Weimar Republic:
the Black Reichswehr
and the Feme-Murders
David B. Southern
'Direct action' is the renunciation of politics. Both individuals and groups
may employ extreme forms of political protest. Individuals who resort to
'direct action' often feel themselves to be divorced from and superior to the
society around them, like Hamlet who, as Harley Granville Barker observes,
'is a man adrift from old faiths and not yet anchored in new'. 1 They are
Nietzschean individuals who by heroic efforts of will strive to create new
values and so place themselves 'beyond good and evil'. 'Direct action' is
likewise the expedient of social groups who have lost faith in received values
and institutions, and run out of ordinary solutions. Arthur Rosenberg writes
of the crisis of German government in 1916: 'If Germany's ruling classes now
recognized the bankruptcy of the Imperial government but simultaneously
rejected parliamentary government, what further possibility remained?? It
was this disorientation of German conservatism in the late nineteenth and
twentieth centuries which led stability-loving groups to espouse radical
political action.
Political protest is conditioned by its social and historical context. Two sets
of people are required to produce it: a wider section of conditional allegiants in
society who oppose the system but do not engage in direct subversion; and a
smaller group of declared opponents of the state who seek its overthrow.
The venture of fringe groups into direct subversion is profoundly apolitical.
Politics is about the conciliation of conflicting interests. Marriage -the most
intimate thing in our lives -is a daily compromise. Compromise is something
which exists in life and without which life cannot go on. Yet extremists reject
compromise and seek absolute solutions. They disdain also the means to
achieve compromise: argument, discussion, negotiation, respect for legality,
voting, elections. They seek not simply to defeat but to destroy their
opponents. Politics is normally conducted against a background of force but
force does not provide its principal subject-matter. Once fringe groups
330
331
become committed to direct action, they elevate force into the main business
of politics.
The pre-condition for the emergence of direct subversion is what Lyttleton
calls 'the retreat of the state'. 3 The state fails to maintain its monopoly of the
coercive power and instead shares power with private groups and individuals.
This occurs when the distinction between the legitimate and illegitimate use of
force is obscured. The results of the loss of this distinction are twofold. Those
entitled to employ force become inhibited about using it:
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.
(W. Shakespeare)
By contrast outsiders become uninhibited about using force:
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
(W. B. Yeats)
In the Weimar Republic the subversive potential of the German Communist Party (KPD) was limited because there existed a consensus that the use
of violence and extra-legal methods by the Communists was illegitimate:
politicians, administrators, the police, the armed forces, the judiciary all
regarded it as self-evident that Communist activity should be suppressed when
it moved outside the law and were ready to act on that assumption. The same
measure of agreement, however, did not exist in respect of right-wing
subversion. There was a widespread diffidence about regarding right-wing
subversion as illegitimate and state action against it as legitimate. The
distinguishing features of right-wing protest in Weimar Germany were its
qualitative and quantitative uniqueness. It was nourished by tolerance and
support from solid and respectable sections of German society. This in tum
fostered that ambiguity with which it was regarded, and without which it
would never have achieved its subsequent dimensions.
I
The precondition for the growth of direct action in Weimar Germany was the
decline of the notion that the state should attract the automatic loyalty and
obedience of all right-thinking citizens. The reasons for this development lay
in the general dilemma of German conservatism, and the special circumstances of the Weimar Republic. 4
Every conservative must ask himself Disraeli's question: 'What do you
332
David B. Southern
333
II
334
David B. Southern
opening to middle-class life ... an unbalanced man, full of storm and stress,
with the understanding of a child ... He had the character of a mercenary,
completely spoilt for normallife'. 7
III
The Kapp Putsch of March 1920 led to the disbandment of the remaining
Freikorps. Official dissolution, however, did not mean actual disappearance.
Successor organisations contrived to lead a clandestine existence. The
Reichswehr, moreover, was anxious to use such organisations as secret
reserves. In the wake of the Franco-Belgian occupation of the Ruhr in January
1923, Seeckt- the head of the Reichswehr- organised the Black Reichswehr
from existing paramilitary formations, largely ex-Freikorps. In this scheme
Seeckt had the cooperation and approval of Reichswehr Minister Gessler and
Prussian Interior Minister Severing. 8 The illicit formations were called
Arbeits-Kommandos (AK), and the principal organisers were Major Buchrucker and Leutnant Schulz. Their strength was about 20,000 men. On 1 October
1923 Buchrucker attempted to launch a putsch at Kustrin and thereafter the
AKs were rapidly dissolved. The Reichswehr subsequently denied any
connection with the Black Reichswehr. The reason for this disclaimer lay in the
activities of the special section.
The link between the Reichswehr leadership and the Black Reichswehr was
provided by Oberleutnant Paul Schulz, whom Grimm characterised as 'the
veritable soul of the undertaking'. 9 Schulz formed a special sectionKommando zu besonderer Verwendung (KzbV)- consisting of three exwarrant officers, Klapproth, Fahlbusch and Biisching. The purpose of this
special section was to eliminate 'traitors' who might betray the existence of the
Black Reichswehr. If the official Reichswehr leadership knew of the existence
of the Black Reichswehr, they might also be thought to know about the special
section. When the murders came to light, the Reichswehr disavowed its illicit
formations of 1923 at the trial of Leutnant Eckermann before the l.Andgericht
Schwerin in 1929, there was a confrontation between General Hammerstein
on behalf of the Reichswehr, and the former Freikorps leader Rossbach about
the Reichswehr's cognisance of the Black Reichswehr. Before his 1928 trial
Fahlbusch alleged that he had killed Wilms on the direct orders of the
Reichswehr: this Schulz denied but Professor Grimm nevertheless believed
Fahlbusch's version to be correct. 10 It was also recorded that within the Black
Reichswehr 'to send by transport' (auf Transport schicken) was a euphemism
for 'liquidate' (erledigen). The true position was best summarised by
LAndgerichtsdirektor ( = LGD) Siegert in the court's judgement in the Schulz
case on 26 March 1927: 11
The Reichswehr, which at that time organised the Arbeits-Kommandos,
335
was and must have been aware, that it was creating formations which were
to be kept secret. If it left the solution of the difficult problem of achieving
this to the Arbeits-Kommandos themselves, it brought thereby a certain
moral responsibility on itself, for the possibility of such an act as has been
tried here lay in the lack of control by the organizing authority. Moreover,
in the uprising in Upper Silesia in 1921-2 a similar lynch justice with the aim
of liquidating traitors had established itself and this could not have
remained unknown to the Reichswehr.
IV
A poem on the Black Reichswehr by Lampel was entitled 'Traitors fall victim
to the Feme' ( Verriiter verfallen der Feme). 12 Feme was the name applied to
the secret self-constituted tribunals in Westphalia in the Middle Ages. Hence
the term Fememord was applied to the killings carried out by members of the
Black Reichswehr in order to safeguard the existence of the formations.
The trials which ultimately followed on these homicides illustrated the
dilemma of public authority in the Weimar Republic. The old machinery of
the state continued to function. It was manned by stolid, unimaginative men
wlto would not have had the jobs they did had they not been stolid,
unimaginative men. The state could still assert itself if it could summon up the
political will to do so. But its self-confidence and self-belief had been sapped
by the official toleration of organisations which in the last resort challenged
the state's monopoly of legitimate coercion. Moreover, the illegal actions of
members of these groups were regarded as innocent of any criminality by
right-thinking members of society and justified by involving a rival theory of
political legitimacy.
Two trials may be singled out: (1) the trial of Schirmann and others for the
murder of Pannier before the Schwurgericht of Landgericht III Berlin on 1-2
February 1926; (2) the trial of Schulz and others for the murder of Wilms
before the Schwurgericht, Landgericht III Berlin on 11-26 March 1927_13
Pannier was a member of the Black Reichswehr killed as a potential traitor
on 3 June 1923. This led to the trial of eleven accused in 1926 before a court
presided over by LGD Bombe. The trial was held in camera, and resulted in
the accused being found guilty and sentenced to long terms of penal servitude.
The trial had an unexpected sequel. On 21 February 1926 the Prussian
Minister-President, Otto Braun, speaking at the Reichsbannertag in
Hamburg, declared that certain judges had placed themselves protectively in
front of the ringleaders who were responsible for the Feme-murders. When
challenged to substantiate this statement in the Prussian Landtag, Braun
replied that his Hamburg speech referred to Bombe's decision to exclude the
public in the Pannier trial; contrary to the express wish of the government, the
case had been heard in secret. 14 Braun's attack unleashed a storm of
336
David B. Southern
controversy around the head of LGD Bombe and an investigation was at once
started into the events which had led to the court's action.
The main proceedings had been fixed for I February I926Y To prevent
accusations that information about the Black Reichswehr was being
suppressed, the Prussian government was anxious to ensure that the case was
heard in public. On 22 January I926 the Secretary of State in the Prussian
Justice Ministry instructed Oberstaatsanwalt Sethe to oppose any motion for
the exclusion of the public. On 26 January Bombe expressed himself anxious
about the Foreign Office's attitude to the case. He asked the Prussian Justice
Ministry to find out whether the Foreign Office regarded the case as politically
sensitive. If no answer were obtained from the Foreign Office by I February,
Bombe declared that he would prefer to exclude the public as a precautionary
measure, rather than postpone the hearing.
Unbeknown to Bombe and the Prussian government, the Reich cabinet had
that day held a meeting, at which the inadvisability of holding such trials in
public was stressed because of its possible effect on relations with foreign
governments. On 29 January, the Prussian government learnt of the attitude
of the Foreign Office and Reich government and asked that the matter be
reconsidered.
On 30 January a highly confidential meeting was held, attended by the
Reich-Chancellor, Reich-President, Foreign Minister, Reichswehr Minister,
Reich Minister of the Interior, Prussian Minister of the Interior and the
Secretaries of State in the Prussian State and Justice ministries. Stresemann
insisted that foreign-policy considerations, in particular the pending negotiations about the reduction in the strength of the army of occupation in the
Rhineland, made it requisite that the court proceedings should be postponed
for at least six weeks. The members of the Prussian government agreed, but
pointed out that the principle of judicial independence prevented the
government from giving direct instructions to the court. It was agreed that the
Foreign Office should not reply directly to the court's inquiry: instead,
the court would be told informally of the Foreign Office's reasons for wishing
to postpone the hearing.
Straight after the meeting, the Secretary of State in the Prussian Justice
Ministry informed Tigges, Kammergericht President, that the government
wanted the main hearing of the Pannier case postponed. Tigges contacted the
President of Landgericht III Berlin who in turn told LGD Bombe. On
31 January Sethe was given his instructions by the Secretary of State in the
Prussian Justice Ministry. He was told to seek a postponement and inform the
court confidentially that no reply would be sent by the Foreign Office.
Before the proceedings opened on I February, Sethe told Bombe in private
of his instructions. When the request to delay the hearing was submitted in
open court, the defence opposed the motion. The court withdrew to consider
the request. Bombe did not know what he could tell the rest of the court of the
government's reasons, which he himself only knew imperfectly; no answer had
337
been received about the Foreign Office's attitude; the prosecution's reason for
its request seemed inadequate. To Sethe's dismay, the court decided not to
delay proceedings but instead to exclude the public. The committee of inquiry
of the Prussian Landtag conceded that Bombe had suffered under
'considerable lack of clarity'. 16 Braun must have known of the secret
consultations between his own and the Reich government. His Hamburg
speech reflected the need to say something striking but unspecific. Called on to
substantiate his charges, he picked on the unfortunate LGD Bombe. This was
a horse that would not run.
The President of the Landgericht III, Landgericht-President Kirchstein, set
down dates for Schwurgericht hearings to begin in 1927: 10 January, 21
February, 21 March, 25 April etc. Kammergericht President Tigges appointed
LGD Bombe to be the presiding judge in the Schwurgericht, while Kirchstein
appointed LGD Siegert to be his deputy. At the end of December I926
Kirchstein became aware firstly, that Schulz's case would be ready for trial in
March 1927; secondly, that two other major Schwurgericht trials would take
place in January- March. Because of pressure of judicial business Kirchstein,
with the approval of Tigges, arranged an additional Schwurgericht hearingan extraordinary Schwurgericht -to open on II March under the presidency
of LGD Siegert to conduct the trial of Schulz. 17
Siegert was a member of the DNVP and had 'the reputation of being of the
sternest and ultra-conservative in his views'. He was, however, 'known as a
man of unusual determination'. 18 When the trial of Schulz, Umhofer and
Klapproth for the murder of Wilms opened, all the defence lawyers sought to
have the case transferred to the regular Schwurgericht sitting, on the grounds
that the extraordinary Schwurgericht had been convened not because of
pressure of business but to transfer the case from Bombe to Siegert, thereby
depriving the accused of their regular judges contrary to the Judicature Act
and the Constitution. When this was rejected, Schulz through his counsel Dr
Sack unsuccessfully sought to have the professional judges removed for fear of
bias. A subsequent appeal to the Reichsgericht failed to upset either of these
determinations.
Schulz had already taken part in two earlier Feme-murder trials. With
others he had been tried by the Landgericht Landsberg from 28 October to
3 November I926 for the murder of Groschke. Shortly afterwards the same
court tried him from 8 to 12 November I926 for the murder of Gadicke.
Though both trials ended in acquittal for Schulz, the judgement in the
Groschke case had specifically found that shortly before Groschke's disappearance Schulz had planned his murder by reliable people and, though
Schulz could not be convicted of incitement, he bore moral responsibility for
the deed.
Schulz's third trial, however, took a different course. Siegert's judgement
outlined the position of Schulz as the true leader of the Black Reichswehr and
the role of the special section. It was not contested that Klapproth, Fuhrmann
338
David B. Southern
and Umhofer had actually killed Wilms on 18 July 1923. The real question
was - the judgement continued - who had ordered them to do it? It reached
the conclusion: 'one will organized the perpetrators for the deed and awoke in
them the resolve to kill Wilms ... the fate of Wilms was decided upon in no
other place than the headquarters of the Arbeits-Kommando'. Schulz
'intentionally produced in the perpetrators the resolve to kill and the murder
was thereupon carried out'. Fuhrmann, Klapproth and Umhofer were
sentenced to death for murder; Schulz received the same sentence for
incitement to murder. On 1 December 1927 their appeals were rejected by the
Reichsgericht.
These sentences were greeted with fury by right-wing circles. Siegert himself
became the object of vehement personal attacks. 19 To large sections of the
political right, it was clear that no crime had been committed. Patriotic men
had liquidated traitors in the interest of national security. The former head of
the Reichswehr, Seeckt, called the death-sentence against Schulz 'a miscarriage of justice in the light of a higher justice'. 20
Two defending lawyers played a prominent role in the Feme-murder trials
and numerous other cases involving Nationalist and Nazi accused: Luetgebrune and Grimm. Luetgebrune was rich, fat, led an extravagant lifestyle and
demanded high fees. Grimm had a lean and hungry look and was motivated
by his convictions rather than professional motives. Their fees and expenses
were paid by an association incorporated under the name of Nationale
Nothilfe e. V. which was headed by Wilhelm van Oppen and supported by
members of the DNVP and other radical Nationalists. Luetgebrune had
represented Umhofer in Schulz's 1927 trial. He was invited to appear on
behalf of Schulz for the appeal. After this had been rejected Dr Meinardus, the
Lutheran chaplain of the prison where Schulz was detained, asked Grimm to
take up Schulz's case.
Grimm produced an argument in exculpation of Schulz and others
convicted of Feme-murders which reflected the attitudes of the nationalist
right to the Weimar Republic. It had been established that a plea of necessity
could excuse the infraction of a criminal law in order to avert a greater evil
either to oneself(Notwehr) or to others (Notstand). In 1927 the Reichsgericht
had invoked the doctrine of supra legal necessity (ubergesetzlicher Notstand)
to exonerate two doctors who had illegally terminated a pregnancy to save the
life of the mother. 21 If a person honestly but wrongly believed that
circumstances existed which justified the violation of a criminal law (putative
necessity, putativer Notstand), he was equally exempt from criminal guilt.
Grimm argued that if the state itself was a legal person which was entitled in
emergency to the same protection as a natural person, it must be in
contravention of the criminal law. If the Feme-killings had been actuated by
the conviction that they were essential to protect the state, then these acts were
exempt from punishment because they could be justified and defended on
grounds of state necessity. If the conviction that the state was exposed to an
339
exceptional danger was erroneous, those who violated the law, in reliance on
this mistaken but honest belief, were immune from legal penalties, because
they acted by virtue of a putative state necessity (putative Staatsnotwehr,
putativer Staatsnotstand). Grimm's argument stemmed from the proposition
that the true state was no longer embodied in the institutions of the Weimar
Republic: its army, its police, its laws. Therefore one had a right and duty to
disregard the obligations imposed by the existing state. 22
The suggestion that the perpetrators could invoke some sort of extra-legal
necessity had already been scouted by Siegert in his judgement. Nevertheless,
Grimm submitted a request for a retrial to Landgericht I Berlin. On 9 January
1929 the court (presiding judge LGD Friedman) rejected Grimm's request
along with his theory of 'extra-statutory state necessity'. The court argued
that in a constitutional state the protection of the state was the exclusive
responsibility of those organs on whom this duty was conferred by law. The
individual was not free to decide what the state interest did or did not require.
The law, not the personal conviction of individuals, was the measure of
legality. 23
Among German judges there were thus men of independence and a sense of
justice. But the German state did not lend them its support. It was the standing
policy of the Prussian State Ministry to commute all death sentences where the
conviction was based on circumstantial evidence. This applied to Schulz. If
Schulz's sentence was to be commuted to life imprisonment, the same must be
done for his co-defendants. The 1928 Reich amnesty reduced the life sentences
to seven-and-half years. On 28 June 1929 Schulz was released on medical
grounds and the remaining men convicted in the case were released soon
afterwards. Schulz became prominent in the SA, was left for dead in the purge
of 30 June 1934 but managed to escape to Switzerland. He is reported to be
alive, happy and living in West Germany.
The Feme-cases showed that the courts were by no means excessively
reluctant to convict or lenient in sentencing right wing offenders. In cases
which ended in conviction, the courts imposed on 22 defendants:
6 death sentences
1 sentence of life imprisonment
2 sentences of 15 years penal servitude
2 sentences of 10 years penal servitude
1 sentence of 8 years penal servitude
besides lesser sentences. 24
As a result of incessant amnesties and individual acts of clemency, all these
sentences were commuted or remitted, so that by February 1930 only two of
those sentenced for their part in Feme-cases were still in prison.
Like other states reluctant to use force, the Weimar Republic found in the end
340
David B. Southern
that it had no force to use. In this sense its high-mindedness was its own
undoing. The delegitimisation of public authority ultimately brought about
its breakdown. Radical opponents of the status quo in liberal democracies
have always claimed that the state is in a process of dissolution, at the end of
which lie anarchy and nihilism. They are, of course, correct. But one can quote
to them the words of Alexander Herzen to the Russian liberals: 'Gentlemen,
you are not the doctors -you are the disease'.
NOTES
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
341
F. von Rabenau, Seeckt: aus seinem Leben 1918-1936 (Leipzig, 1940)"pp. 424--6.
RGSt. 61, 242: cf. Rv. Bourne [1939]1 K.B. p. 687.
F. Grimm, Grundsiitzliches zu den Femeprozessen (Munich, 1928); B. A. Koblenz,
R 43 I, No. 1243, ff. 259-83; Radbruch, 'Zum Fememordprozess Schulz' Die
Justiz IV (1928/9) pp. 164--6; K. Siegert, Notstand und Putativnotstand (Berlin,
1931).
23. Dahlem, Rep. 84a, No. 11769, ff. l--6.
24. Dahlem, Rep. 84a, No. 7922, ff. 36, 124.
20.
21.
22.
344
Eve Rosenhaft
important of these struggles were to be the industrial ones, since they had the
greatest bearing both on the interests of the workers and on the stability of the
capitalist system. The 'preparation, setting in motion, and carrying through
of economic struggles, even against the will of the reformists' was the first
major task to which the KPD applied itself after the Sixth Congress. 4
But organised workers were not the only section of the population on which
the Communist Party set its sights in the 'Third Period'. The need to organise
the broad middle strata, along with the 'unorganised' sections of the working
class, also became urgent in the crisis. s Strikes as such had little relevance to
the situation of these people; the Party pledged itself to articulating their
special needs, and to enforcing their demands through popular action outside
the factory. By combining strikes and popular action, the Party could achieve
a new alignment of class forces. And if the workers and other members of the
'labouring masses' were to see their causes as a single revolutionary struggle,
the tw<' forms of activity must be tightly coordinated on every occasion.
The 'indivisible connection' of strikes with 'revolutionary street-demonstrations, with revolutionary mass-meetings' 6 became a central tenet of
Communist tactics. Organised support outside the factory meant that a strike
was sustained and its impact widened, while the converse of politicising each
economic conflict was the organisation of industrial action as the climax of
every political campaign. Strikes and mass demonstrations were mutual
guarantees of short-term success; in combination, they were the means to the
long-range victory of the revolution. The Comintem Programme established
a hierarchy of 'strikes, strikes combined with demonstrations, strikes
combined with armed demonstrations, and finally the general strike combined
with armed insurrection'. 7
By the end of 1929, the mass-strike had moved to the centre of tactical
discussion. This was largely the result of the events of the preceding May in
Berlin: in spite of a long-standing police ban on public demonstrations, the
KPD called its followers into the streets in traditional celebration of the First
of May. When police moved to prevent demonstrators from proceeding
towards their central meeting point, running battles developed in many parts
of the city. In the working-class districts of Wedding and Neukolln, barricades
were constructed against the police. The fighting, which continued intermittently into 4 May, left over thirty dead (none of them policemen), nearly 200
wounded, and some 1,200 under arrest. In its wake, the Communist press was
banned for several weeks, and by 15 May the Party's paramilitary
organisation, the Roter Frontkiimpferbund (RFB) was illegal in all parts of
Germany. On 2 May, the KPD issued the call for a protest strike, which was
answered -the Party claimed -by 25,000 workers in Berlin and another
50,000 throughout the country. 8
There was a whole series oflessons to be learnt from the Berlin events, all of
which, as interpreted by the Communists, tended to confirm the expectations
of the 'Third Period'. The feasibility of the political mass-strike was the most
important of these. But the unexpected vehemence with which the residents of
Wedding and Neukolln reacted to the actions of the police also stimulated
discussion of the form and function of demonstrations as such. The article
which summarised the conclusions of the Tenth Plenum of the Comintem
Executive (ECCI) regarding the mass-strike ended with an analysis of the
importance of the battle for the streets in a period when 'the masses learn
propaganda and agitation primarily on the streets'. 9 And May Day 1929 had
shown the conditions under which this battle would have to be carried on. In
the context of the Party's deliberations on the problem of repression and
legality, the demonstration took on an importance of its own as a tactical
instrument.
The doctrine of the 'Third Period' held out the prospect of direct reprisals
against the Communist parties and their auxiliary bodies as well as of
continuous encroachments on the workers' freedom. It would be four years
before the German Communists would have to face the concentration camps,
courts martial and firing squads predicted by one Comintem publicist after
May 1929. 10 But in the last years of the Weimar Republic, political activity
was already encumbered by repeated local, provincial and national prohibitions on public gatherings and by bans on various radical publications and
organisations. Aimed in principle at extremists of both left and right, these
measures were applied with greater consistency and regularity to the
Communists, as anti-subversive legislation had been throughout the
Republic's history. 11 In the eyes of the Comintem, the German Party in 1930
was already only 'semi-legal'. 12
Questions of legality and illegality were thus a major preoccupation of the
Communists from 1929 on. These questions were fundamental to the survival
of the Party, and their solution was not simple. How was the Party to avoid
being driven underground without abandoning its revolutionary activities,
how carry on those activities without provoking all-out reprisals? For the
Party itself, the tacticians' answer was twofold. The Communists must prepare
in advance -rehearse and reorganise -for operation underground, and at the
same time the Party must establish itself and its influence so firmly among the
masses as to frustrate any ban. 13
Important as were their implications for the way the Party operated, these
were essentially precautionary measures. The long-range strategy of the KPD
proposed another, more drastic answer to repression: to provoke it, to defy it,
and in the process to forge a revolutionary mass-movement:
The slogan of the day is: construction of an illegal Apparat, but by no means
becoming submerged in illegality. The slogan of the day is -not
'exploitation of all the legal opportunities', but development of the massstruggle of the proletariat to burst the bounds of police and trade-union
legality. 14
346
Eve Rosenhaft
Seen in these terms, the function of popular action in the 'Third Period'
went beyond the simple manifestation of opinion or even the enforcement of
concrete demands. Every action organised by the Communists was designed
to instruct and engage its participants. The achievement of the stated aims of
any individual strike or demonstration was of material importance, both to
the prestige of the Party and to the welfare of the workers, and the Party
celebrated its tactical victories as such. But in the light of history, it was the
action itself that counted. The men of the 'Third Period' saw signs in the events
of 1928/29 that the masses were ready to fight on just those terms. 'Hart gegen
hart', said Kuusinen at the Tenth Plenum, 'that is the mood of the broad
working masses. Any partial defeats in this period no longer evoke depression;
even serious setbacks can be more easily borne than cases of capitulation
without a fight'Y
For a trade-unionist, to break through 'trade-union legality' in an unofficial
strike, even a non-violent one, was to be radically divided from one's
traditional allegiances and prejudices. The action in which people were led
into direct confrontation with the forces of the state had the same effect on a
'higher' level; it was a purely political act. The ideal remained a combined
assault on both levels. At the meeting of the ECCI Presidium in February
1930, Manuilski welcomed the fact that strikes were more and more often
accompanied by 'street demonstrations, clashes with the police, with the
constabulary, with the military, with strike-breakers, with social fascist
spies'. 16
But even when closely associated with a strike, the show of force was a
distinct type of event, and one of the lessons of May 1929 was that a
demonstration which exposed the brutality of the state could itself be the basis
for a strike movement. In the view of the KPD, it had been the achievement of
the Party in those days to overcome its own legalism, to the extent of openly
organising and carrying out demonstrations in defiance of the police ban. The
violent form the demonstrations took represented a breakthrough on the part
of the masses: they had taken up the challenge of a direct battle with the state
itself. 17 The fight against the police was of the essence of armed insurrection.
Every demonstration was an exercise for the coming military struggle and a
lesson in the civil-war character of the existing political order.
The discussion of how demonstrations should be organised so as to gain the
maximum agitational profit from the political situation at the minimum
organisational cost tended to detach itself from the broader strategic
argument. The demonstration was studied as a weapon in its own right, aimed
directly at the system. In April 1931, the clandestine KPD journal Oktober
compared the various forms of public demonstration with the successive
stages of insurrection -from the already obsolete legal mass-action, through
demonstrations 'in which one has to reckon right from the start with some
kind of incident', to the final armed march on the centres of power. 18 As
District Leader of Berlin, Walter Ulbricht in mid-1931 initiated a programme
348
Eve Rosenhaft
From the very beginning, 'terror' was identified as an integral part of National
Socialist activity. When, in August 1929, the Communist press began to take
notice of the Nazis as a force to be reckoned with, the occasion of the change
was the series of SA attacks on workers and their institutions that
accompanied the NSDAP Congress in Niirnberg. 25 This followed a spring
and summer during which KPD organs, while predicting a major realignment
and revitalisation on the right, had repeatedly denied any possibility of an
independent political role for the Nazi Party. 26 It preceded an autumn
crowded with violent signs of the NSDAP's resurgence; official sources
confirmed Communist claims of a new wave of confrontations and direct
attacks by the SA. 27 By the end of the summer, it had become clear that the
'white terror' predicted by Comintern analyses would wear a brown shirt. In
August the Berlin District Leadership stated with some finality that the task of
demoralising the proletariat had passed from the hands of the Social Fascists
into those of the Nazis. 28 KPD observers, while they remained watchfully
skeptical of the NSDAP's political significance, turned to analysing the
terrorism of the SA as a key to its character. 29
By the end of the year, a consensus had been reached. For the purpose of
policy, the Nazi assault was henceforth treated as tactical, functional rather
than instrumental -not as a military campaign aimed at the most efficient
possible destruction of the workers' movement or the Communist Party, still
less as the first stage of a seizure of power, but as a series of preliminary
skirmishes designed 'to cripple their resistance to the capitalist offensive, to
distract them from the central tasks of the class struggle'. 30 To the SA was
assigned 'the same role as the cavalry in wartime', its purpose to undermine
the workers' will to react decisively to a major assault on their rights by
making 'a sort of customary law' out of terror. 31
The terrorism of the SA could even be seen to have its uses for Communist
agitation. On the one hand, it contributed to the general collapse of bourgeois
society towards which the KPD itself was working. Like the tactical violence
of the Communists, the fascists' 'policy of open violence batters the deeplyrooted prejudices of bourgeois legality'. 32 On the other, terror itself, in the context of the SA organisation, seemed to have a special attraction for the masses
of uprooted young people for whose allegiance the parties were competing.
Party writers and speakers pointedly contrasted the 'romantic fighting
methods' of the Nazis -military parades, 'unsurpassable Fuhrer-cult',
uniforms, and, not least, 'bloody terror' -with the 'all too sober character' of
KPD agitation among the young. 33
In the light of all these considerations, a forcible response to Nazi violencein KPD terminology, the 'wehrhafter Kampf' -was desirable, its functions in
KPD agitation mirroring the functions that fascist terror was seen to have.
Passivity in the face of attack was repeatedly branded a moral and political
weakness fraught with danger for the Party and the whole working class. In a
speech to the Central Committee at the beginning of 1931, KPD Chairman
Ernst Thalmann named 'shrinking back before murder-fascism' as 'the
decisive deviation in this period'. He went on to enumerate the advantages of a
vigorous response:
There must no longer be a single act of terror by the Nazi murderers without
the workers everywhere reacting immediately with the most aggressive
physical [wehrhaftem] mass-struggle. What does this counter-action mean?
It means: I. a political security in the proletariat ... ; 2., that the Social
Democratic workers gain confidence in us, because they see that we are
there and fight back. 3.... that the fascist front is undermined and
decimated. 4., that we strengthen, forge and steel our cadres together with
the mass front for higher tasks in the revolution. 34
In the context of the KPD's general line, the most valuable ofthese was the
effect of the fighting on third parties, particularly on the Social Democrats.
Within the SPD, dissatisfaction at the reluctance of party leaders to sanction
violence was strong enough to provoke a crisis in the Berlin party in
November 1930. 35 Such conflicts opened the way for an appeal to the Social
Democratic rank and file on the basis of the visible preparedness of the
Communists to fight the common enemy. More broadly, the wehrhafter
Kampf was seen as yet another way to the heart of the 'labouring masses'. As
such, it was entirely in keeping with the tactics of the 'Third Period', in which
the KPD gave its approval to and in some sense took responsibility for the
urge to action among ordinary people, hoping to broaden the movement
under Communist influence, and to extend the Party's influence in propagating the movement. Thus Thalmann, somewhat optimistically: 'Today the
outrage of the proletariat is already so great that one may almost say: If the
KPD were to neglect this fight, the masses themselves would spontaneously
begin to answer each new fascist murder with anti-fascist punitive
expeditions.' 36
Equally characteristic of the Third Period was the KPD's fear of its own
populism, which constantly threatened to compromise the Party's theoretical
position and hence its raison d'etre. This too was voiced from time to time in
350
Eve Rosenhaft
352
Eve Rosenhaft
has for its precondition under all circumstances a broad ideological and
political propaganda and mass-agitation ... a fight with the fists
alone ... can ... once again become correct when the fascist movement is
sufficiently eroded and undermined in the political struggle. 43
This, then, was the KPD's answer to fascist terror: a self-defence movement
vigorous enough to discourage attack and maintain the integrity of the
Communist movement and so organised as to fulfil certain fundamental
agitational functions, but not so aggressive or ideologically insensitive as to
prejudice the chances for a broad front of the 'labouring masses'.
III
Although all of the elements of the KPD's line on 'individual' and 'mass
terror' can be found in Party documents from 1929 on, in its totality it was
only gradually articulated. Because the violence of the SA was both highly
visible and highly disturbing to the Party's actual and potential constituency,
the interest of the KPD lay in sustaining the call to action at its highest pitch,
unless and until the threat to its existence arising from the consequences of
that action appeared overwhelming. Moreover, the question of the wehrhafter
Kampf was highly sensitive to shifts in the Party's general line, since the fight
against National Socialism was secondary to the fight against Social
Democracy in the context of the Party's long-range strategy and of its selfimage, and the physical fight was, in tum, ancillary to both those struggles.
Five phases can be distinguished in the articulation ofthe KPD's policy on
the wehrhafter Kampf, each corresponding to broader shifts in policy and/or
perceived changes in the political atmosphere in Germany. The first phase,
lasting from August 1929 to the spring of 1930, was characterised by the
widespread use of the slogan, 'Schlagt die Faschisten, wo Ihr sie trefft!' ('Beat
the Fascists wherever you meet them!') 44 The tendency of all KPD statements
in this phase was to encourage a vigorous and violent response to the growing
Nazi presence. The all-but-undifferentiated propaganda of violence reflected
both genuine surprise at the sudden resurgence of the Nazi movement and
uncertainty about how the movement might be expected to develop, as well as
a lingering confidence that National Socialism, being an anomaly on the
political scene, might yet be literally beaten back. 45
The second phase began in mid-1930. By this time, Communist observers
had already come to see National Socialism less as 'a military organisation of
a few tens of thousands of mercenaries of German capital' and more as a mass
movement. 46 There was another factor dictating a shift of line, however. In
February 1930 the Comintem Executive met to reaffirm the importance of
winning the confidence of the Social Democratic rank and file in preparation
for the fast-approaching revolutionary crisis, and to condemn explicitly the
tendency of certain KPD leaders to lump rank and file and functionaries
together in their attacks on the SPD. 47 This had two consequences for the
wehrhafter Kampf first, new emphasis was placed on it as a political tool, an
instrument of the united front campaign. At the same time, the language of the
united front from below was reactivated and applied to the conflict with the
Nazis. In May instructions were issued that 'Schlagt die Faschisten ... !'
should be withdrawn from circulation, as the elements of a new line were
introduced into public speeches. 48 On 15 June, Die Rote Fahne published the
first major Resolution on the Fight against Fascism. Dated 4 June, the
Resolution described the 'schematic' application of the slogan 'Schlagt die
Faschisten ... !'as no longer appropriate and laid out systematically for the
first time the prescriptions of mass action and the ideological fight. Where
during the first phase the KPD had looked to broad political campaigns to cut
into the NSDAP's electoral reserves, the Resolution emphasised immediate
ideological confrontation with individual National Socialists, calling for new
efforts in the 'work of differentiation and subversion within the camp of the
labouring followers of the fascist organisations'. 49
A third phase can be dated from the Reichstag elections of September 1930.
In the light of the Nazis' electoral successes, the Party analysts anticipated a
further sharpening of the political crisis, and by the end of the year their
predictions seemed to be fulfilled. In October the cooperation of the SPD with
the government parties in the Reichstag established the Social Democrats'
policy of tolerating Bruning's presidential government, and thereby provided
a basis for new attacks from the left. At the same time, while the KPD leaders
predicted an 'unavoidable struggle', to follow within the coming year upon the
deepening of the economic crisis and the sharpening of police terror, the
Comintern's military-political expert reminded readers that 'the emphasis of
this struggle does not yet lie on physical combat with the fascists'. 50 During
these weeks, Thalmann referred for the first time directly to 'the propaganda,
preparation and carrying-out of the political mass-strike against fascist
attacks'. 51
On l December Chancellor Briining introduced the first of his blanket
emergency decrees 'for the protection of economy and finances'. On the
following day a lead article in Die Rote Fahne declared: 'The current policy of
the government represents the fascist transformation of the country', and a
Po/biiro resolution a few days later confirmed that the Briining government
was officially regarded as the first stage of a fascist dictatorship. 52 This new
situation, it was argued, placed the prospect of a People's Revolution
( Volksrevolution) on the agenda; the Party must begin to propagate the idea of
an uprising of the dispossessed of all classes. Of course, the revolutionary
situation had still to be organised, as Thalmann was at pains to point out. 53 In
concrete terms, this meant simultaneously an activation of the whole Party,
including renewed calls for a vigorous wehrhafter Kampf, and more effective
appeals to the Nazi rank and file. In the first three months of 1931 we find the
354
Eve Rosenhaft
first systematic explication of the value of the wehrhafter Kampf and, in midMarch -in the midst of an otherwise singularly bloodthirsty propaganda
campaign arising out of the murder of Communist Deputy Henning in
Hamburg- the first explicit public disavowal of individual terror. 54
In Aprill931, the Comintern Executive met again. It approved the general
line of the KPD and held up the activity of the German Communists as a
model for the other national parties. At the same time, though less publicly,
the KPD was criticised for courting the Nazi rank and file at the expense of the
working-class united front and for encouraging tendencies to terror and
violence at any price. The Party's analysis of the German political situation
was also corrected; Bruning's government was characterised as the government
of'the implementation of a fascist dictatorship', rather than as a fascist regime
itself. 55 This, the Eleventh Plenum of the ECCI, may be said to mark the
beginning of a fourth phase, although it was the approval rather than
the censure they received in Moscow that was reflected in the activities of
the German Communists during the following summer.
These continued to alternate between winning the Nazis over and beating
them back, in the context of a general activation of the Party which increased
the likelihood of violent clashes of all kinds. In Berlin between May and
August, four police officers were shot to death and two severely wounded in
clashes involving Communists. The most notorious of these cases, the murder
of the police captains Anlauf and Lenk on the Biilow-Platz on 9 August, was
carried out on direct orders from some member or members of the KPD
leadership and welcomed in the locals for the intimidating effect it had had (or
was expected to have) on the police force at large. 56 A wave of revolutionary
expectation swept the membership, officially discouraged by the leadership
but tacitly confirmed by the reissue of the Party's insurrectionary handbook,
Der Weg zum Sieg. The Party began for the first time to make practical
preparations for going underground. At the same time, fights between
Communists and Nazis became more frequent and more deadly. In Berlin in
September, the first attempt to put the policy of mass terror into practice, in
the organisation of a united-front campaign around the presence of SAtaverns in working-class neighbourhoods, degenerated into a series of
shooting raids. 57 By the autumn, the position of the Party was seriously
compromised by the acts of its own membership.
As the year drew to a close, the KPD leadership found itself under threat
from changes in the general political situation as well. The formation of the
'Harzburg Front' in October was seen to represent a major regrouping on the
right, while the long-anticipated shift to a more openly repressive phase of
'presidential government' was signalled by the issuance of the third blanket
emergency decree, the first to declare explicitly that the basic civil rights
enumerated in Article 48 of the Weimar Constitution were 'inoperative'.
Extraordinary police measures had already been sanctioned by the three
356
Eve Rosenhaft
individual terror, but only through mass terror will we go forward in our
fight ... To follow the tactics of individual terror would mean the end of the
Party.' 65
IV
358
Eve Rosenhaft
In the past months the Party had cut off the fighting organizations
completely and characterised them as 'Neumann-Formations'. The members of the' Einheit' [illegal RFB] were put out, and it was correct that just at
present they weren't directly following the instructions of the Party. He was
doing his best to keep the members under control, but if they didn't turn out
for demonstrations there was nothing he could do about it. After all, the
fighting formations were not created to go on public promenades. 80
The Party pointedly refused to call out the RFB to help in the Berlin transport
strike at the beginning of November. 81 By the end of the month, a new wave of
'organisational measures', combined with the agitational successes of that
strike and the Communist gains in the Reichstag elections the same week, had
effectively silenced opposition. 82
In the course of the campaign of enforcement, the Party theoreticians and
publicists developed their own stereotype of the 'terrorists': They came out of
the elements most recently recruited to the Party, the young and 'parts of the
unemployed'. They were therefore unschooled, subject to theoretical
'confusion' and easily swayed by 'antique, hackneyed "arguments" such as
"intimidating the enemy" and "stirring up the masses"'. They were also
peculiarly liable to react emotionally to SA violence, with feelings of 'despair
and revenge'. All of this became particularly volatile in combination with a
false understanding of the revolutionary perspective -either expectations of
an immediately impending insurrection or, paradoxically, a belief that the
Nazis should be allowed, or helped, to seize power as the necessary prelude to
a proletarian uprising, or some unformulated combination of the two. 83
This is not the place to discuss in detail the character and motivations of
individual KPD terrorists. In fact, the biographies of Communist streetfighters suggest that the relationship between occupation and employment,
age, organisational experience and political attitudes was rather more
complicated than the Party leadership recognised. 84 But it is clear even at this
level of policy analysis that if they had conformed to this stereotype, their
errors of theory and practice would have been to a large extent implicit in the
Party line itself and the terms in which it was articulated.
More important, examination of the ways in which policy was formed and
publicly presented has something to tell us about the relationship between
different levels of perception, articulation and motivation in party politics.
The language of theoretical analysis took on new meanings when the Party
had to apply it in practice to the demands and pressures of the German
situation, and the discussion of tactical violence in general became in turn
more focussed, its practice more extreme. Similarly, the gap that opened up
between leadership and rank and file over the question of individual terror in
the fight against the SA reflected not so much simple differences of opinion as
divergent understandings of what that fight was about. The membership, on
the whole, was not so much thinking incorrect thoughts as speaking a different
360
Eve Rosenhaft
NOTES
l.
See 'The International Situation and the Tasks of the Communist International'
(Theses of the Sixth Comintern Congress), as reprinted in J. Degras (ed.), The
Communist International 1919-1943. Documents. Volume II: 1923-1928
(London, 1960) p. 459fT.; Protokoll. X. Plenum des Exekutivkomitees der
Kommunistischen Internationale (Hamburg/Berlin, 1929) p. 50.
2. Protokol/. X. Plenum, p. 73.
3. 'Aus der Rede des Genossen Gussew ... ', Kommunistische 1nternationa/e [KI]
XI (1930) H. 9/IO, p. 539f; R. Gerber, 'Uber die jiingste Entwicklung der
Bedingungen des Kampfes gegen die faschistische Diktatur in Deutschland', KI
XI (1930) H. 8, p. 426.
4. 'Aufruf fiir die Bildung der revolutioniiren Einheitsfront in den
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
II.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
362
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
Eve Rosenhaft
See Zwei Jahre Arbeit, p. 476fT.; Protoko/1 der Verhandlungen des 12. Parteitags der
Kommunistischen Partei Deutschlands (Berlin, 1929) pp. 377f., 467f., 484, 498;
Waffen, pp. 16f., 89. Cf. R. Renner, 'Das Ergebnis der Landtagswahlen in
Sachsen', 1nternationale XII (1929) p. 344fT; 'Resolution des Zentralkomitees zu
den Sachsenwahlen und ihren Lehren', ibid., p. 35lf.
Jasper, 282fT. Cf. J. K. von Engelbrechten and H. Volz, Wir wandern durch das
nationalsozialistische Berlin (Miinchen, 1937) pp. 169, 185f., 224; J. K. von
Engelbrechten, Eine braune Armee entsteht. Die Geschichte der BerlinBrandenburger SA (Berlin/Miinchen, 1937) pp. 102f.; RF 25 August,
12 September, 26 September 1929 (for evidence of the SA's resurgence in Berlin).
RF 29 August 1929.
Cf. F. Riick, 'Verstarkte Aktivitat der deutschen Nationalsozialisten', Inprekorr
IX, Nr 74 (13 August 1929); RF 6 August 1929; 'Rundschreiben Nr 32 [of the
Central Committee]', 24 August 1929, BAK R45IV/24.
W. Hirsch, 'Faschismus und Hitlerpartei', Internationa/e XV (1932), 43.
'Die Braune Pest', RF 28 May 1930.
Inprekorr XI, Nr 49 (29 May 1931) 1161.
F. Fischer, 'Das Eindringen des Faschismus in die Reihen der Jugend in
Deutschland', KI XI (1930), H. 38/39, p. 2073; H. Rau, 'Die KPD vor der
Eroberung der Mehrheit der Arbeiterklasse', KI XI (1930), H. 37, p. 1995;
Thalmann touched on this theme even as he rebuked the Communist Youth for
fostering tendencies towards individual terror: 'Die Bedeutung des XII.
Plenums ... fiir den KJVD ... ',in E. Thalmann, Reden und Aufsiitze 19301933 (Cologne, 1975), I, p. 375. Cf. also H. Jager, 'Die NSDAP: VI, Der
Nationalsozialismus und die Jugend', Inprekorr XII, Nr 47 (7 June 1932) p. 1478.
E. Thalmann, 'Volksrevolution iiber Deutschland' (Pamphlet, Berlin, 1931)
reprinted in Reden und Aufsiitze, I, pp. 90, 105. Cf. RF 24 January 1931.
See 0. Ihlau, Die Roten Kampfer (Meisenheim/Glan, 1969) pp. 40, 48; K. Robe,
Das Reichsbanner Schwarz-Rot-Gold (Dusseldorf, 1966), pp. 32lf.; RF 22
October, 22 and 23 November 1930; Thalmann, 'Volksrevolution', p. 96.
Thalmann, 'Volksrevolution', p. 107.
'Entschliessung der Berliner Bezirksleitung iiber die theoretischen und praktischen Aufgaben der Parteiorganisation', RF 10 January 1932. Cf. W. Florin,
'Fragen unserer Einheitsfrontpolitik', lnternationale XV (1932) p. 341.
RF 13 November 1931, reprinted in lnstitut fiir Marxism us-Leninismus beim ZK
der SED, Geschichte der deutschen Arbeiterbewegung, IV (Berlin, 1966) Nr 82.
'Fiir revolutionaren Massenkampf gegen individuellen Terror', RF 13 November
1931.
See inter alia, the Polbiiro Resolution of 4 June 1930 on the fight against fascism,
RF 15 June 1930 (reprinted in part in Geschichte der deutschen Arbeiterbewegung
IV, Nr 66); Instructions of the Bezirksleitung Zentrum (Berlin) to the StatTelleitungen of the Kampfbund gegen den Faschismus, II September 1931,
reprinted in Mitteilungen des Landeskriminalpolizeiamts Berlin, Nr 20 (15
October 1931) StABr 4,65/ll.H.4.a.32.
Thus in the light of the results of the September 1930 Reichstag elections, the
Central Committee conceded that in the 'main struggle between KPD and
National Socialists, [the struggle] for hegemony over the labouring, nonproletarian strata', the NSDAP was still ahead: Rundschreiben Nr 12 des ZK der
KPD, 18 September 1930, StABr 4, 65/II.A.l2.a. Cf. T. Neubauer, 'Die Arbeit
unter den kleinbiirgerlichen Mittelschichten', KI XII (1931) H. 10, p. 460; S.
Erkner, 'Die NSDAPund die Klassen', Internationale XIV (1931) p. 33lf. On the
impenetrability of the KPD's 'Kemtruppe', see RF 17 November 1931; W. H.
'Zur politischen Lage in Deutschland', lnprekorr XI, Nr 106 (6 November
1931) p. 2358; Hirsch, 'Faschismus und Hitlerpartei', p. 41.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
See e.g. RF 27 May and 7 June 1930, 19 May 1932; H. Eberlein, 'Die Faschisten
und die Betriebsratewahlen', KI XII (1931) H. 31/32, p. 1426; Inprekorr XIII, Nr
17 (7 February 1933) 570. Cf. Hirsch, 'Faschismus und Hitlerpartei', p. 40; H.
Jager, 'Die NSDAP: V, Die soziale Zusammensetzung', lnprekorr XII, Nr 6 (3
June 1932) p. 1431.
'Lehrbrief Nr 2, Faschismus und Sozialfaschismus', HAK Rl34/62, p. 95f.
The slogan had first been used in 1924, following the clash between Communists
and Stahlhelm demonstrators in Halle which had provided the occasion for the
founding of the RFH. Heinz Neumann resurrected it for use in the wehrhafter
Kampf It first reappeared in RF on 28 August 1929, and was the theme of a lead
article on 5 November 1929: RF 15 May 1924, 28 August, 26 September, 19
October, 5 November, 31 December 1929. Cf. M. Huber-Neumann, Kriegsschauplatze der We/trevo/ution (Stuttgart, 1967) pp. 269f.
See e.g. A. Norden, 'Das Hombenattentat auf den Reichstag', lnprekorr IX, Nr
84 (3 September 1929), for whom the fight against fascism is equivalent to giving
'bloody heads'; Gerber, 'Uber die jiingste Entwicklung ... ', p. 432f. The line
also reflected the programmatic statements of Comintem analysts that new
emphasis had to be placed on 'immediate, physical self-defence' as such: L.
Alfred, 'Zur Frage des proletarischen Selbstschutzes', Kl X (1929) H. 44, p. 1642.
Cf. Huber-Neumann, Von Potsdam nach Moskau, p. 277f.
S. Heymann, 'Massenkampf gegen den Faschismus', lnternationa/e XIII (1930)
p. 536; R. Renner, 'Die Sachsenwahlen und ihre Lehren', lnternationale XIII
(1930) p. 404ff.
'Ober die Aufgaben der KPD. Resolution des ZK der KPD, bestatigt vom
Erweiterten Prasidium des EKKI', lnprekorr X, Nr 36 (25 Aprill930) p. 824f; RF
25 March 1930.
Mitteilungen des LKPA Berlin, Nr 12 (15 June 1930) StAHr 4,65/IV.l3.i.
Polbiiro Resolution of 4 June 1930 (seen. 40).
'Verscharfung der wirtschaftlichen und politischen Krise', lnternationale XIII
(1930) 673ff.; Mitteilungen des LKPA Berlin, Nr 19 (I October 1930) StAHr 4,
65/II.A.l2.a; 'Das Ergebnis der Reichstagswahlen und die Aufgaben der Partei
(Resolution des Polbiiros des ZK)', StAHr 4,65fii.A.l2.a; L. Alfred, 'Fiir
Klarheit in der Frage des proletarischen Selbstschutzes', Kl XI (1930) H. 37, p.
2009.
E. Thalmann, 'Die KPD nach den Reichstagswahlen', in Reden und Aufsatze, I,
p. 34.
Cf. E. Thalmann, 'Die KPD im Vormarsch', in Reden und Auftatze, I, p. 24ff.;
'Wir fiihren das Yolk zum Sieg iiber die faschistische Diktatur', ibid., p. 40ff.
Thalmann, 'Volksrevolution', pp. 79, 86, 115.
'Mord iiber Deutschland: Erklarung des ZK der KPD ... ', RF 18 March 1931.
E. Thalmann, 'Einige Fehler in unserer theoretischen und praktischen Arbeit und
der Weg zu ihrer Oberwindung' (December 1931) in Reden und Aufsatze, I, p. 295ff;
T. Weingartner, Stalin und der Aufstieg Hillers (Berlin, 1970) pp. 53ff. Cf. D. S.
Manuilski, Die kommunistischen Parteien und die Krise des Kapitalismus
(Hamburg; 1931) pp. 114ff. and passim; lnprekorr XI, Nr 38 (24 April 1931),
p. 946ff., Nr 49 (29 May 1931) p. 48ff.
Cf. Landesarchiv Berlin 58/52, Sonderheft (fragments of the indictment in the
Hiilow-Platz killings); Geschichte der deutschen Arbeiterbewegung IV, 308;
H. Wehner, /933-45. Untergrundnotizen. Von KP zur SPD (n.p., n.d. [pirated
edition of hectograph manuscript of 1946]) p. 6; Huber-Neumann,
Kriegsschauplatze, p. 3llff. and Von Potsdam nach Moskau, p. 257ff., for varying
accounts of why and by whom the killings were ordered. For membership
reactions: IISG, Nachlass Grzesinski, Nr 1385, 1386, 1391, 1677, 1678.
Reichsministerium des lnneren [RMI], lA 2130/15.7, Berlin 25.6.31., Geheim!;
364
58.
59.
60.
61.
62.
63.
64.
Eve Rosenhaft
Nachrichtensammelstelle im RMI, IAN 2160/l.IO.a, Berlin 1.10.31; Vortrag iiber
die kommunistische Bewegung, gehalten auf der Nachrichtenkonferenz vom
14.12.1931, von RR W. von Lengriesser: all StABr 4,6S/II.A.12.a. Cf.
Weingartner, 95. In June, the leadership of the Party's defence groups remarked
reprovingly, 'Our comrades often talk about the imminent revolution; you often
hear: It's starting this autumn!' and at the end of the year memben of the illegal
RFB were told that they were approaching 'great struggles': 'Only a short time
remains to us until then': Kampfbund gegen den Faschismus, Bezirks1eitung
Ruhrgebiet, 9.6.31, StABr 4, 6S/II.H.4.a.32; 'Rundschrieben Nr 1 zur po1itischen
Lage und den nii.chsten Aufgaben', StABr 4, 6S/VI.l000.44.d.l. On this period,
see also E. Rosenhaft, Between 'Individual Terror' and 'Mass Terror': The German
Communists and 'Paramilitary' Violence 1929-1933 (Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Cambridge, 1979) Chapter 5.
Reichsgesetzblatt, 1931, I, Nr 67; W. H. 'Zur politischen Lage in Deutschland',
p. 2357ff.; Thalmann, 'Einige Fehler', p. 298. Cf. Geschichte dl!r dl!utschen
Arbeiterbewegung IV, p. 304ff.
The Social Democratic leader Breitscheid responded to the KPD's anti-terror
resolution of November 1931 with the declaration that a serious barrier between
the two parties had been removed. See Schulthess' Geschichtskalendl!r (1931) p.
216; Robe, p. 392f.; RF 17 and 20 November 1931; P. Langner, 'Ein
Betrugsmanover Breitscheids', Inprekorr XI, Nr 109 (17 November 1931) p. 2473.
RF 20, 21,23 October 1931; Thalmann, 'Einige Fehler', p. 320. Cf. Ministerialrat
Dr. Guyet, 'Die kommunistischen Bestrebungen aufBildung von Einheitsorganisationen mit Sozialdemokraten' (Report to Nachrichtenkonferenz 14.12.31)
StABr 4,65/II.A.l2.a.
IISG, Nachlass Grzesinski, Nr 1386.
Cf. W. Insarow, 'Schlagt die Waffe der Provokation aus den Handen der
Bourgeoisie', lnprekorr XI, Nr 118 (18 December 1931). The police were quick to
label the Resolution a politically-motivated 'declaration oflegality', comparable
to previous cases where the Party had re-emphasised its rejection of terror at
times when the safety of its organisations was threatened. Aspects of the context
in which the Resolution was issued bear this out: on 25 September, Ulbricht had
declared before the Reichsgerichtshof that the only uprising on the KPD's
agenda was 'the uprising of SPD workers ... against their traitorous leaders',
and the issuance of the Resolution anticipated by just a week a conference at
which the interior ministers of the Liinder were scheduled to discuss the means of
suppressing political violence: Nachrichtensammelstelle im RMI, IAN 2160
d.6/a/27.ll; Mitteilungen des LKPA Berlin, Nr 23 (1 December 1931) both
StABr 4,65 /II.A.l2. b. IS; W. Ulbricht, Zur Geschichte dl!r dl!utschen Arbeiterbewegung I (Berlin, 1953) pp. 548f.; 'Niederschrift iiber die Konferenz der
Innenminister der Liinder ... 'BAK R431/2701a, 258---00. For insiders' views,
cf. G. Regier, Das Ohr des Malchus (Koln/Berlin, 1958) p. 185; M. Reese,
Lebenserinnerungen (MS 1953) p. 16.
'Rundschreiben des ZK der KPD, 8.12.31', La~deshauptarchiv Kob1enz
403/16776, pp. 681-733. Cf. Thalmann, 'Einige Fehler', p. 315ff.; E. Thalmann,
'Der revolutionare Ausweg und die KPD' in Reden und Aufsiitze, I, p. 447f., and
the police report of the speech to the Central Committee on which this text was
based: Mitteilungen des LKPA Berlin, Nr 8 (15 April1932) StABr 4,65/IV.l3.i.
K. Wrobel, 'Zum Kampf Wilhelm Piecks gegen imperialistischen Terror und
Faschismus 1929-1932', Zeitschrift fur Geschichtswissenschaft XXIII (1975)
p. 1437. Cf. Die Briisseler Konferenz der KPD (Frankfurt/M, 1975) p. 81;
Geschichte dl!r dl!utschen Arbeiterbewegung IV, p. 325f.
68.
69.
70.
71.
72.
73.
74.
75.
76.
77.
78.
79.
80.
81.
82.
366
Eve Rosenhaft
BAK R58f390, 295fT.; lnprekorrXII, Nr98 (22 November 1932)p. 3158; 'Ausder
Resolution des Bezirksparteitages der KPD Berlin ... ' in H. Karl and E.
Kiicklich (eds), Die A.ntifaschistische Aktion (Berlin, 1965) Nr 87.
83. See e.g. RF 13 November 1931,27 March 1932; Hiller, 'Der KJVD im Kampf',
p. 83; 'Nach drei Wahlen', lnternationale XV (1932) p. 222; D. S. Manuilski, Die
kommunistischen Parteien und die Krise des Kapitalismus (Hamburg/Berlin, 1931)
p. 87; lnprekorrXIII, Nr l3 (27 January 1933), p. 453; Thalmann, 'Einige Fehler',
p. 297; E. Thalmann, 'Die neue Etappe in der Bolschewisierung der KPD', in
Reden und Aufsiitze, II, p. 229; Thalmann, 'Schlusswort', p. 252.
84. See Rosenhaft, Between 'Individual Terror' and 'Mass Terror', Chapters 6 and 7.
21 Approaches to Political
Violence: the Stormtroopers, 1925-33
Peter H. Merkl
The current wave of literature on political violence and terror makes it
advisable to attempt at least a preliminary mapping out of approaches and
perspectives in the study of political violence 1 before we plunge into the
historical subject at hand. There appear to be at least five orientations, not to
mention mixtures of them, that make up the universe of current and recent
studies of political violence:
First of all, there is a large category of moralising literature; much but not
all of it journalistic. Its general thrust goes toward showing what horrible
things certain people have been doing to other human beings and to society.
Frequently this literature of popular books and articles 2 also suggests how to
counteract terror and violence or, at least, how to remove its social causes and
reestablish a sense of equity and justice. 3 A subspecies of this moralising
literature are works that call upon the 'oppressed' -by whatever definition,
nationality, religion, social class -to work up the righteous anger to challenge
and overthrow their oppressors, most likely by political violence of some
sort.''
A second school uses the violent act itself, individual or collective, as the
unit of analysis. Much of the quantitative analysis of wars and international
conflicts fits this description and there have also been attempts to link
international with internal conflicts. 5 A prominent recent example of this
quantitative approach to domestic political violence can be found in the
research of Charles, Louise, and Richard Tilly on the changing nature of
violence in the century from 1830 to 1930. The Tillys counted the annual
incidence of violent collective actions of a certain severity, that is involving
specified numbers of participants and casualties, in France, Germany, and
Italy and developed a theory of collective violence on this basis, namely that
modernisation appeared to be accompanied by fundamental changes in the
extent, duration, and intensity of domestic violent conflicts. 6 Other recent
examples have tabulated different kinds of revolutionary violence and ranked
various nations accordingly.' At an individual or incident level, the work of
367
368
Peter H. Merkl
369
politically violent persons. 15 Finally, the study of violent individuals can also
focus on establishment violence of police or military which should be a part of
military or law enforcement sociology.
I
To this quintuple division of current approaches we need to add a second list
of categories of political violence in order to locate our subject properly:
It is a truism that there can be and have been many generically different
kinds of political violence. The brief period of the Weimar Republic alone saw
at least four basically different varieties of it, of which only a small part is
accounted for by the rising NSDAP:
(I) There were the civil-war-like clashes of opposing Independent Socialist (USPD) and other leftwing revolutionary armies and of the Freecorps and
Einwohnerwehren in the years 1918-21, even though there never occurred a
real revolution.
(2) Individual terrorists and assassins such as those of Organisation
Consul (OC) or the Feme on the right, and some romantic bands of outlaws on
the left.
(3) Violent nationalistic groups active in border and anti-separatist
struggles in the East and under the French occupation, especially in
the occupied Rhineland 1923/24, including bombing and sabotage squads.
(4) Large paramilitary organizations whose street violence was generally ancillary to their propaganda function, even though it may sometimes
have appeared to be a purpose in itself. This group includes most of the
marching organisations such as the Stahlhelm veterans, the Communist Red
Front, Reichsbanner republican guard, the Young German Order (Jungdo)
and political youth organisations, and the Nazi stormtroopers (SA) who also
drew many of their recruits from all of these categories and organisations. 16
This paper will only deal with stormtrooper violence.
There was, of course, also a noticeable range from the notorious street and
meeting-hall brawlers of the Red Front and the SA to the less frequent
involvement of Stahlhelm and Jungdo in street violence. The official account
of violent disruptions of political assemblies in the state of Prussia in 1930, for
example, clearly shows that most disruptions were caused by Communists or
stormtroopers. All casualty lists of the streetfighting of the years 1929-33
likewise were dominated almost exclusively by Communist and stormtrooper
casualties. 17 Furthermore, the nature of the political violence of some
organisations changed considerably over the fourteen short years of the
Weimar Republic under the influence of various situations, restraints, and
opportunities. In this fashion, for example, the extreme left went through
several phases of organization for 'workers' defence' and quasi-military
revolutionary violence before it arrived at the phase described under (4). The
370
Peter H. Merkt
Young German Order grew from an active Freecorps into a rather nonviolent
if demonstrative youth organisation. And important parts of Stahlhelm
likewise came from varyingly violent backgrounds to their non-violent
posture of the pre-depression years, after which, in 1929/33, they struck a
rather militant, but more political pose.
The post-1924 stormtroopers, by comparison, maintained greater continuity in their dedication to ostentatious violence, although even they had
undergone a certain evolution in their views toward violence in the early
1920s. At first they had understood their function as that of a guard at rallies
and demonstrations of their party and its speakers. The SA was born quite
naturally with the first meeting-hall brawl at the Munich Hofbriiuhaus on 24
February 1920, when the speaker, Adolf Hitler, found that his audience had
been packed with leftwing opponents. As he reported, there was heckling,
violent clashes, and finally, 'a handful of war comrades and other adherents'
fought off the disrupters. 18 According to one account, armed veterans and
bullies attacked the interlopers with sticks, rubber truncheons, horse whips,
and pistol shots.
With their growing numbers and established uniforms, the SA took on
more weight of its own as an instrument of massive demonstrations beginning
with a 1922 rally protesting the Law for the Protection of the Republic. This
trend finally culminated in the monster rallies and such gigantic SA
demonstrations as the Braunschweig rally of 1931 when 100,000
storm troopers were assembled for the sole purpose of marching them all day
long in formation past Adolf Hitler. 19
The specifically stormtrooper style of violence was also born in 1922 when
the Munich SA, probably following the example of the Italian squadristi,
began to make forays into Bavarian towns like Coburg and Landshut for
propagandistic purposes and to 'break the red terror' there. In the case of
Coburg, Hitler had been invited to a German Day, a patriotic observance
of various nationalistic groups, and he brought with him eight hundreds of
uninvited stormtroopers with flags and a band on a special train. The SA
proceeded to 'conquer the town' from its socialist 'masters of the streets'. The
characteristic procedure however, was hardly one of conquest or even
temporary control, nor did it go to the length of squadristi assaults on socialist
and trade-union buildings or leaders. Instead, the stormtroopers usually
staged a march or two in uniformed formation through town and put in a
similar appearance at a rally in a prominent place. Their arrival and presence
in these socialist-dominated towns was evidently meant more as a 'showing of
the flag' in a potentially hostile environment than as a confrontation between
two paramilitary formations. Violent encounters usually ensued only as the
marching stormtroopers would draw hecklers or whenever individual
stormtroopers in taverns or on the streets would get into brawls with hostile
individuals or small groups. What the stormtroopers regarded as a 'victory'
was usually merely the silencing or ejecting of small numbers of vocal
opponents in a small space, such as a meeting-hall, a tavern, or a piece of a
371
There was an obvious gap between what Hitler wanted the SA to be in the
early years and what Captain Roehm and his army friends made of it. Hitler's
conception appears to have been as a partisan instrument suitable for
propaganda and for terror, for spreading the faith as well as for 'the conquest
of the streets'. The propaganda function implied strong ideological
convictions, a proselytising fervor, a knowledge of effective propaganda
techniques, and the sheer impact of uniformed marchers of the faith on the
public. This crusade also required the determined use of force to protect the
party's speakers and meetings, to disrupt rival speakers and meetings, and on
occasion to engage in full-scale battles with paramilitary organisations of the
left. Members of the SA were supposed to be the most active party members
but not really separate as an autonomous, military organisation. With their
windbreaks, ski-style caps, swastika armbands, and canes, the storm troopers
soon proceeded to show their mettle as Hitler's political soldiers and fighters
of the faith.
But the circumstances and the heavy-handed sponsorship of the army
instead made the SA into a Reichswehr reserve trained by the Reichswehr,
organised with artillery and even cavalry units along Reichswehr lines, and
tied to other quasi-military organisations in the Kampfbund. Early in 1923,
Hermann Goering was called in to take command away from the army officers
and a special bodyguard for Hitler was formed which came from different
sources than the Reichswehr elements, chiefly workers and craftsmen. But it
was too late. Hitler was unable to disentangle himself sufficiently from the
military-nationalist junta in Bavaria during that turbulent year to make more
than a token effort to seize power by himself: the abortive beer hall putsch. 21
When the time came to reestablish the stormtrooper organisation, following an interval of prison and abortive reorganisation of the SA (Frontbann) by
Roehm, Hitler had his opportunity to ensure that the SA would be his and his
alone. He obviously wanted to avoid both the pre~l924 model of an
autonomous quasimilitary Wehrverband or army reserve and a clandestine
organisation of political terrorists. As he wrote in a letter to Roehm's
replacement, Pfeffer von Salomon in 1926: 22
What we need are not a hundred or two hundred daring conspirators but
hundreds and hundreds of thousands of fanatical fighters for our
372
Peter H. Merkl
faith ... to work with gigantic mass demonstrations ... conquering the
streets. We have to make Marxism understand that National Socialism is
going to be the next master of the streets, just as it is going to be the master
of the German state some day.
His conception of the function of the SA had reverted back to the partisan
propaganda and protection squads of the years before the military element
won the upper hand in the SA, and also before autonomous, ill-considered
actions of the SA were capable of getting him and the whole party outlawed
again. His Basic Guidelines for the Reestablishment of the NSDAP of
February 26 1925 specifically barred 'armed or quasimilitary formations' or
conspiratorial groups such as Organisation Consul, Wiking (Ehrhardt), or the
Freecorps and veterans groups from which the new SA could expect to draw
many recruits.
Every storm trooper would have to join the NSDAP and could not belong to
any rival organisation at the same time. The SA was to be tightly controlled by
the party leadership, but not on a local or regional level. As organised by the
former Freecorps leader and Westphalian Nazi Gauleiter Captain Franz
Pfeffer von Salomon in 1926, it became a nationwide, uniformly organised
partisan army whose lower units were subordinated exclusively to the central
leadership of SA and party. Pfeffer also received command over the
Hitler Youth (HJ), the SS, and the Nazi student organisation. He created a
rather flexible organisation which combined tactical independence with
central control and encouraged the local leaders to recruit as many further
members as possible. His organisational hierarchy of Schar, Trupp, Sturm,
Standarte, and Gausturm turned out to be an excellent vehicle for the rapid
expansion of the SA in the years 1930/33. By this time also, the brown shirts
had been introduced, according to one source, from leftover uniform shirts of
the East African colonial troops. Sturm numbers, buttons, and insignia were
given these 'political soldiers' and they were instructed to appear only in
closed formation. With every annual NSDAP rally, furthermore, the larger
units were given quasi-regimental flags (Standarten) which were to be
displayed on special occasions.
What was the purpose of this partisan army of 'political soldiers', the
overthrow of the government? Ostensibly, it was the 'conquest of the streets'
from the moderate and extreme left. During the half century of the struggle of
the labor movement in Germany, street demonstrations in working-class
areas had become a symbol of strength and dignity, a reinforcement of
working-class solidarity as well as of defiance of outside authority. With the
'revolution' of 1918 and the establishment of the republic, this 'control of the
streets' took on even greater symbolic significance for the organised working
classes. In the hands of Socialist or Communist militants, the control of the
streets on occasion implied also political violence, disruption of the meetings
of opponents, or 'individual terror', that is, acts of terrorism by and against
373
374
Peter H. Merkl
which spread throughout the public life of the city and increasingly to the
provinces as well. It was here that the individual propensities of violent men
merged with the organised intent of large paramilitary party armies amidst a
politically volatile and not very clear situation. The political alignments and
consequences were unclear not only because neither the bourgeois right nor
the republican defenders of the state -and not even the utterly misguided
Communists- fully realised the significance of the Nazi menace, 23 until it was
too late. They were unclear to the immediate participants also because of the
curious shell-game of fighting the bogus enemy.
It strains our credulity today and certainly contradicts any notion of the
rational purpose of political violence- for example that violence is merely
extreme passion in pursuit of a goal or an enemy- but the SA clearly (and
sometimes deliberately) appears to have been confused about the identity of
its enemy. There is a large SA literature, written by participants in the violence
of the early thirties, 24 in which a seething hatred for the police and the state of
Weimar surfaces every now and then amid luxuriant details of battles with the
bogus enemy in the streets and meeting-halls of Berlin and other places. The
battles with Communists and, occasionally, the Iron Front are laced with tales
of brutality and sadism meted out to the antagonists, horrible descriptions of
their deeds and moral character, and accounts of internal comradeship and
solidarity in the SA. Many of the generalised motives we mentioned earlier are
there: cries of injustice, a sense of deprivation, frustration, especially arrested
upward mobility or the fright of social demotion, a hatred of the well-born and
well educated, and the anticipation of persecution and violence which goes to
rationalise the SA-man's own violence. But the aggressive hostility is always
focussed on the 'Marxist terror' that allegedly had to be broken by violence,
namely by attacking the Communists who, in fact, were neither in power nor
any less the object of police measures than the stormtroopers themselves.
Occasionally, the real enemy is mentioned: 2 s
The combined attack of government, the parties, their power and press
would succeed in smothering the movement if it were not for the SA-This
SA, however, is untiring and ever-present. It breaches and breaks the ring of
lies, carrying leaflets from house to house, gluing up posters, and writing its
election slogans in large letters in many a dangerous night .... It is the
target of the enemy's hatred, There isn't a night in which SA men don't lie in
the streets as victims of the Communist terror ...
Occasionally, also, a statement slips out that, if they were not armed,
policemen too could be hunted down and beaten up. But the SA, of course,
prudently refrained from seeking any confrontation with the police even
though they often bore grudges, and on occasion singled out Berlin police
officials for verbal attacks. More typically, they strike heroic poses and switch
enemies at their convenience: 26
375
SA men never give in. They answer the enemy in kind. They put up terror
against terror. When the KPD assaults a comrade, the SA smash the tavern
where the murderous mob is known to be. And when the police arrest them
by the hundreds during a propaganda campaign and drag them off to the
Alexanderplatz [Berlin police headquarters], they smash up the hall in
which they are locked up. They smash the benches, throw the telephones
through the breaking windows, and tear out the water-line so that the upset
police have to call the fire brigade for help.
The reader is left to wonder what strange personalities are lurking under the
thin veneer of storm trooper manliness. 27
Another important feature of the subculture of political violence in Berlin
was the establishment of bases where the stormtroopers of a particular Sturm
could hang out, drink and find shelter from individual harrassment. By 1928,
the first SA Sturmlokale, about 20 of them, had appeared in Berlin, 'fortresses
in the battle zone ... offering peace and security from the enemy ... rest
from the strenuous service ... centres of SA life because of the regular Sturm
and Trupp evenings there ... Here the men experience what they almost
always lack at home, a warm hearth, a helping hand ... comradeship'. 28 The
Communists also had their well-known hangouts and it soon became part of
the sport to choose a Sturmlokallocation as close as possible to that of the
bogus enemy, preferably next door. In the same fashion, any Communist
demonstration would call for a storm trooper counterdemonstration the same
day and, if the police had not objected, in the same street. Such occasions
invariably led to the desired confrontations regardless of police strategies of
separating the marching throngs. Somewhere along the route or after the
demonstrations in taverns, back alleys, or on the trains, they would always
find each other and engage in combat or pursuit. Such street battles, along
with the violence accompanying election campaigns and a long string of
massive meeting-hall battles, marked the long march of the stormtroopers
through the Weimar Rupublic.
Needless to emphasise, all this violence produced a rapidly spiraling
number of dead and injured, especially in Berlin. By 1929 there was also a new
kind of confrontation, initiated by Communists who were evidently bent on
real conquest of sorts. Three times in one week, they tried to storm the
Treptow Sturmlokal of the SA, the second time allegedly with 180 men of
the elite Liebknecht Hundreds and under police protection. The third time,
the RFB completely destroyed the SA hangout. Soon, the SA began similar
raids on KPD hangouts and continued to seek confrontations with the 'reds'
wherever they could be found and provoked. In one month, from midSeptember to mid-October of 1929, the Berlin SA had forty seriously injured
comrades and its second casualty. 29
The pace of the 'conquest of Berlin' accelerated dizzily with the onset of
mass unemployment and the first Nazi landslide in the elections of September
376
Peter H. Merk/
1930. Physical clashes with the Communists, the Reichsbanner and the Berlin
police now occurred continually and at times under macabre circumstances,
as at Horst Wessel's funeral when the Communists attacked the procession
and allegedly tried to seize the coffin as well. There were official attempts at
harrassment and suppression, in particular the continual police searches for
weapons, occasional mass arrests, decrees suppressing Goebbels' hatesheet
Der Angriff for periods of time, and the so-called 'shirts-and-pants war'
conducted by the government. A short time before the 1930 elections, brown
shirts were outlawed and the SA had to switch to white shirts which in time
had to be replaced with ordinary street clothes. The police in the meantime
had to supply institutional clothing to the violators and take them home so
that the latter could be collected. The change to white did not affect
stormtroopers' activities too much although there were fears that the
complete suppression of the SA would follow since the RFB had been
outlawed too. Taking away the white shirts and all other identifying marks
too, on the other hand, tended to confuse the stormtroopers and to bring
combat down from massive quasi-military combat to the small group level
where they could still identify friend and foe.
The nature of the combat with the Communists also took on more
characteristic forms underneath a thin veneer of major propagandistic
actions, such as the massive demonstrations against the pacifistic movie 'All
Quiet on the Western Front' or a mock debate between Goebbels and Walter
Ulbricht at Friedrichshain which really served to kick off a gigantic meetinghall battle that 300 policemen were unable to stop. 30 By 1931, the SA accounts
of the physical clashes in Berlin subtly shifted emphasis to a mention of
'wrestling club fighters with brass knuckles', 'a selection of our best sluggers',
innkeepers and Muttchen (motherly caretakers), or girlfriends who hid the
stormtroopers' weapons at times of police searches under their skirts, gunshot
battles, and incidents where a handful of gunslingers simply opened the door
of a Sturmlokal of the enemy and fired away. Some SA fighters had
underworld names like Mol/enkonig, Revo/verschnauze, U-boat, Schiessmuller, and Gummibein; some of the Sturme were called Robber Sturm,
Murderer Sturm, or Dancing Guild. One of the most chilling accounts is that
of a battle at Raddatz Festsiile where 90 SA sluggers locked in their opponents
and beat them without mercy or escape: 31
Twenty-five of the best sluggers of the SA are in front of the stage, to the left
a strong contingent and to the right, above the door, the rest of the SA. So
the Communists are in the terrible grip of fists, and hit by beer steins, and
legs of chairs which almost immediately turns them to flight. While in the
middle of the hall, the reds are literally being knocked down in rows, there is
a desperate struggle at both [locked] emergency exits ... One Communist
tries to crash through the window head first to open a free path for his
comrades. But he did not count on the metal screen in front of the window.
377
He falls back and the window glass severs both his ears. The other windows
are too narrow. Their heads hang out while their backs are being thrashed
resoundingly. The entrance has been barricaded with ... chairs and tables
so the police can't get in either ... The Neukoelln Communists had 45
wounded, including 8 seriously, and one of them died.
From the memoirs of the Berlin chief of police, Albert Grzesinski, a similar
picture of the escalation of violence between the Nazis and the Communists
emerges there, beginning especially in the fall of 1930: 'Ordinary brawls had
given way to murderous attacks. Knives, blackjacks, and revolvers had
replaced political argument. Terror was rampant. Carefully prepared alibis
helped the terrorists on both sides to escape conviction.' 32
For this purpose, both extremist parties apparently organised four-man
squads of 'hit-men' who would operate in districts of the city where none of
them was known. Grisly death threats were communicated to the victims,
including police officers. Grzesinski estimated that there were about twenty
such squads in operation, but none of them was ever caught. In response the
Social Democratic chief of police, over republican protests, revived the old
Prussian 'protective custody' from an old mid-nineteenth century statute
which permitted arrests without a court warrant. He badgered the Prussian
diet into passing a series of special emergency laws in March and October of
1931. During a terror wave in May of the same year, 29 persons were
murdered -twelve Communists, six Nazis, one Stahlhelmer, two Social
Democrats, four policemen, and four of unknown political allegiance including nine by Nazi assailants and thirteen by Communists. The KPD
finally disavowed the use of 'individual terror' by the end of that murderous
year. Grzesinski also describes some of the SA and KPD hangouts including
one SA tavern where police found two life-sized puppets with the features of
himself and ofthe Prussian Minister of the Interior, Carl Severing, their heads
punctured with bullet holes from target practice by the young toughs. Most of
the stormtroopers arrested in Berlin were under twenty years of age, generally
between 17 and 20. As the chief of police put it, they were 'no longer adherents
of a political creed -just gangsters ... well-schooled in the methods which
were to find their culmination in concentration camps and prison dungeons of
the Third Reich'. 33
The Nazi efforts to memorialise their own casualties, however dubious in
some details, substantially bear out the impression of large-scale political
mayhem throughout the republic. One Nazi source even offers statistics on the
number of policemen allegedly killed by the Communists between 1918 and
1933, namely 216, of whom the bulk died in 1919 (21), 1920 (105), 1921 (42),
and 1923 (17). Another 1972 policemen are said to have been injured by
Communists, this time also including large numbers injured in 1929 (145),
1930 (274), 1931 (332), and 1932 (304). The same source claims 387 dead and
43,000 injured Nazis, not counting those killed during the Nazi manhunts of
378
Peter H. Merkl
1933 when some of the victims were waiting for their Nazi captors gun in
hand. The list of Nazi casualties suggests 30 for the years 1924-9, 17 in 1930,
42 in 1931, 84in 1932, and 33 in 1933 (until April). Of the casualties since 1930,
96 were said to have been shot and 40 stabbed. 34 The sketchy data on the Nazi
casualties also suggest that their social composition was far more proletarian
(56.8 per cent skilled and unskilled workers) than the SA at large, not to
mention the NSDAP.
IV
What manner of men were attracted by the activities and the milieu of the
stormtrooper army is very difficult to guess, the many speculations we cited
above notwithstanding. The smooth impression of united will and discipline
that SA leader Pfeffer von Salomon prescribed in an order of 1926 is obviously
misleading.
'The only way the SA addresses the public is in closed formation ... one of
the strongest forms of propaganda. The sight of a large number
of ... uniformed and disciplined men marching in step whose unconditional will to fight is clear to see, or to guess, will impress every
German deeply and speak to his heart in a more convincing and moving
way than any written or spoken logic ever can.
Calm bearing and matter-of-factness underscore the impression of
power, the force of the marching columns and of the cause for which they
are marching. The inner force of the cause makes Germans jump to
conclusions about its righteousness ... if whole groups of people in
planned fashion risk body, soul, and livelihood for a cause, it simply must be
great and true.'
The SA Chief added, 'This emotional proof of the truth is not enhanced but
disturbed and deflected by simultaneous appeals to reason or by
advertisement. There must be no cries of "down with" ... or "long
live" ... or posters about issues of the day, vituperation, speeches, handbills
or popular amusements accompanying the display.' This was obviously the
way the organisation wanted not only the public to see its rag-tag army of
unruly young adults but also the SA men to see themselves. Calm bearing and
discipline probably did not come easy. But ifthe raw recruits- which most of
them were -could be told how important it was, perhaps they could measure
up to the image.
The carefully stage-managed partisan struggle of the stormtroopers was
also a way of maintaining discipline and revolutionary spirit among the
membership toward the day when the final struggle for power might arrive.
The SA men had to exercise their fanaticism and the 'spontaneous' gestures
379
and shouts of the big rallies just as the recruits of the Imperial Army had had
to exercise their goose step and clicking of the heels. Much of it was just a
channeling of the motor instincts of physically well-trained, athletic young
men whose marching feet could hardly be restrained. But in addition to this
army-like militarisation, there also had to be indoctrination in the political
mysteries, 'the idea of the Hitler movement', about which the master himself
was amazingly vague. Beyond a sketchy synthesis of nationalism and nonMarxist socialism, with relatively little anti-semitism, and due respect to the
all-emcompassing people's solidarity (Volksgemeinschaft), the SA men only
knew whatever their local leaders might tell them. The fulcrum of
stormtrooper ideology seems to have been, in the manner of George Orwell's
1984, on the one hand a craven Hitler cult -love Big Brother- and on the other
hand, hatred for the chosen enemy, the Marxists. And to keep the pot boiling,
and the extremist temper fed, a never-ending series of hectic campaigns and
activities kept the members busy. 'The impetus of the young movement was
immense', Sturmfuehrer Horst Wessel wrote in his diary. 'One rally followed
the other, each one crazier and stormier than the one before. Red Front (RFB)
tried to break us up dozens of times, always in vain. There were street
demonstrations, press campaigns, propaganda tours through the province, all
creating an atmosphere of activism and high tension which could only help the
movement.' 36
It is not easy to summarise an inquiry into anything as vast as the individual
motivations of a rapidly growing army of revolutionaries of whatever faith or
intent, even if one has written a book about it. 37 Perhaps the best way to begin
is with the variable of age which at once describes important motivational
features and separates the motives of the older storm troopers from the bulk
which was very young indeed. Since a large part of the relevant historical
experiences of rebellious individuals is, obviously, determined by their date of
birth, the history-related motivation of the postwar generation of stormtroopers (born 1902 or later) is likely to differ profoundly from that of
the war (born 1895-1901) or prewar generations (born 1894 or earlier).
We shall use the Abel Collection 38 of 581 NSDAP members including 337
SA men as a rough guide for want of better statistics. The postwar generation
amounted to two-thirds of the stormtroopers (SA and SS) of 1933 and threefifths of its middle and lower echelon leaders, a significantly larger share than
in the NSDAP at large. This is to say that only a twelth of the stormtroopers
were in the prewar army, a sixteenth were among the volunteers of 1914, and,
in fact, only a good quarter were war veterans. The most pivotal event of
the era, the Fronterlebnis and the great war in all its manifestations, can
explain only a small part of the individual motivations of the stormtroopers.
Almost the same is true of the experience of the defeat of 1918 and of the
revolutionary and counter-revolutionary stirrings of the first postwar years,
such as Freecorps service. 39
If it was not the great patriotic trauma, then what can explain the
380
Peter H. Merkt
381
l.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
The writer is indebted for this survey of pertinent literature to Diana E. Reynolds,
research assistant at the University of California, Santa Barbara.
There is no need to document the abundant popular literature on terrorism.
See, for example, J. Bowyer Bell, A Time for Terror: How Democratic Societies
Respond to Revolutionary Violence (New York 1978), who recommends the
avoidance of tyranny, flexible accommodation of challengers, and a stress on law
and justice rather than law and order. See also T. Honderich, Political Violence
(Ithaca, N.Y., 1976).
Such literature, again, is legion, especially with regard to nationalistic causes. But
see also B. Moore Jr., Injustice: The Social Basis of Obedience and Revolt (New
York, 1978) who pleads that before 'politically effective moral outrage' can
develop, the underdogs must shake off their sense of the inevitability of
oppression.
Of the numerous general literature, R. J. Rummel's 'dimensionality of nations'
project deserves special mention. See Rummel 'The Relationship Between
National Attributes and Foreign Conflict Behavior', in J. D. Singer (ed.),
Quantitative International Politics (New York, 1965) pp. 187-214 and the
writings of I. Feyerabend, L. F. Richardson, and M. Haas.
See the Tillys, The Rebellious Century, I830-I930 (Cambridge, 1975); and Ch.
Tilly and E. Shorter, Strikes in France, 1830-1968 (New York, 1974).
See, for example, F. R. von der Mehden, Comparative Political Violence
(Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1973), who distinguishes, among primordial (cultural or
religious), separatist, revolutionary, coup, and student/electoral violence; or the
work on 'internal war' by Harry Eckstein and others~
See G. Botz, Gewalt in der Politik (Munich, 1976), esp. chapter four; M. Clark
Havens, C. Leiden, and K. M. Schmitt, The Politics of Assassination (Englewood
Cliffs, N.J., 1970), chapter three; and W. Laqueur, Terrorism (Boston, 1977),
chapter three. Police statistics often supplies good data for this perspective on
political violence.
Recent examples of this general literature aside from those already cited, are
several of the essays in M. H. Livingston, (ed.), International Terrorism in the
Contemporary World (Westport, Conn., 1978); Anthony Burton's introduction
to his reader, Revolutionary Violence: The Theories (New York, 1978); much of
the current literature on fascist movements; P. Wilkinson, Terrorism and the
Liberal State (London, 1977); and A. Parry, Terrorism: From Robespierre to
Arafat (New York, 1976). See also the classic summary in C. Leiden and
K. M. Schmitt, The Politics of Violence: Revolution in the Modern World
(Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1968) chapters 2 and 3.
But see, for instance, S. Dialer (ed.), Radicalism in the Contemporary Age
(Boulder, Col., 1977).
382
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
Peter H. Merkl
SeeP. Merkl, Political Violence Under the Swastika: 581 Early Nazis (Princeton,
1975) parts III-4, IV, and V; and The Making ofa Stormtrooper(Princeton, 1980)
chapters 4 and 5 where the organisational setting of the early Nazi party, and its
relation to ideology and violent behavior are analysed. See also E. Bittner,
'Radicalism and the Organization of Radical Movements', American Sociological
Review 28 (1963) pp. 928-40 and the literature on organisation~ sociology and
psychology.
See, for example, the contributions by J. A. Dowling and A. Storr to Livingston,
which have strong overtones of Freudian analysis; Moore, Wilkinson, Parry, and
Honderich. Further recent explanations are D. I. Warren, The Radical Center
(Southbend, Ind., 1976) and W. Eckhardt and Ch. Young, Governments Under
Fire (New York, 1977).
See especially the cultural emphasis of A. Bandura, Aggression: A Social
Learning Analysis (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1973); also S. J. Breiner, 'The PsychoSocial Aspects of Violence', U.S.A. Today (September 1978); orR. Restak, 'The
Origins of Violence', Saturday Review (12 May 1979), as well as J. Margolin,
'Psychological Aspects in Terrorism', in Y. Alexander and S. M. Finger (eds),
Terrorism: Interdisciplinary Perspectives (New York, 1977) pp. 270-82 and T. R.
Gurr's classic Why Men Rebel (Princeton, 1970).
Crusaders, Criminals, Crazies: Terror and Terrorism in our Time (New
York, 1976) esp. pp. 12-16, 40-41.
See, for example, Laqueur, chapter four, and Botz, as well as the contributions to
St. U. Larsen and B. Hagtvet (eds), Who Were the Fascists? (Oslo, 1980).
See this writer's The Making of a Stormtrooper, chapter 2.
Ibid., Table 2 and the last pages of chapter 2.
A. Hitler, Mein Kampf(New York, 1939) p. 405. Later accounts speak of the
November 1921 rally as the hour of birth of the SA when there were a mere '46
fighting off800 enemies'. See also H. Bennecke, Hitler und die SA (Munich, 1962)
pp. 23-9, where the heavy involvement of the early SA with the army is detailed.
The use of uniformed men in massive demonstrations and at rallies, of course,
was no monopoly of the SA. It had long been used by the Stahlhelm and other
veterans groups and, with less of a uniformed and military bearing, was not
unknown in socialist demonstrations long before the founding of Reichsbanner
and Iron Front. The presence oflarge numbers of veterans of World War I in all
groups facilitated the appearance of such formations.
Newspaper and autobiographical accounts almost invariably give a very slanted
picture, depending on the identification of the writer with one side or the other.
Even police reports and court records rarely are able to answer the question of
responsibility any better than any adult can who breaks up a fight between small
boys.
On the role of the Reichswehr and the circumstances of the 1923 imbroglio, see
esp. H. J. Gordon, Jr., Hitler and the Beer Hall Putsch (Princeton, 1972) chapters
5-7, 14, and 20.
Quoted by Bennecke, p. 238.
The right wing (DNVP and Stahlhelm) assumed it could use the NSDAP for its
own conquest of the state. The republican parties (Center, DDP, and SPD) were
more worried about the assault of the right wing and of the Communists than
about the seemingly transitory Nazi threat. The Communists (KPD) had been
instructed to fight the 'social fascists' of the SPD rather than the Nazis and, in the
Berlin transport workers strike of late 1932 and on earlier occasions, even made
common cause with the right-wing enemies against the republican government of
Prussia and of Berlin.
40.
41.
42.
383
See esp. the extensive collection of the Munich Institut fiir Zeitgeschichte.
F. Stelzner, Schicksa/ SA (Munich, 1936) pp. 54-5.
Ibid., p. 55.
Somehow one is reminded of Charles De Gaulle's characterisation of revolting
students as 'le chie-en-lit'.
J. K. von Engelbrechten, Eine braune Armee entsteht (Munich, 1937) p. 85.
Ibid., pp. 82-4, 98-106.
There were 60 injured. Ibid., pp. 145-8.
Ibid., p. 188.
Inside Germany (New York, 1939) p. 130.
Ibid., pp. 131-4. The author's count of riots and casualties in Prussia for the
period of I June to 20 July 1932, is 461 political riots with 82 killed and 400
seriously injured.
W. Decker, Kreuze am Wege zur Freiheit (Leipzig, 1935) pp. 96, 109-32.
SA Befeh/, 3 Nov. 1926.
Quoted by W. Sauer inK. D. Bracher, Sauer, and G. Schulz, Die nationalsozialistische Machtergreifung (Cologne, 1960) pp. 843--4.
See Merkl, The Making of a Stormtrooper, chapters 3-5.
Described by T. Abel himself in The Nazi Movement (New York, 1965).
The experience of border struggles and, in particular, of the Franco-Belgian
occupation of the Rhineland in 1923 seems more prominent among the Abel
respondents, but this is due at least in part to the disproportionate representation
of such cases in the collection.
The nature of German census statistics is a hindrance to meaningful occupational
analysis. Furthermore, to be sound, an assessment of social class has always
required a great deal more than merely the occupation of the respondent, namely
occupation of father, income level, educational training etc.
One of the intriguing attributes of disproportionate numbers of violent
stormtroopers in the Abel Collection turned out to be that they had at an early
point lost their fathers, or older brothers frequently to a hero's death in the great
war. The sons or younger brothers thereby were doomed to follow in their
footsteps to the bitter end.
See esp the sections on the early Nazis who later became enforcers of the terror of
the Third Reich in both, Political Violence Under the Swastika and The Making of
a Stormtrooper.
43.
385
386
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
387
388
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
389
390
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
391
392
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
such groups or movements do not merely 'talk' but 'mean business'; the
suggestive effect Nazi terror had upon important sections of the German
middle class was due to just this.
Against these 'advantages' -in terrorist perspective- it must be
considered, however, that recourse to violence, particularly if concentrated on
methods of 'individual terror' of the relatively aimless kind, can easily become
an end in itself; this in turn is tantamount to a progressive discrediting of such
movements and their ideological aims, nebulous as these may be. This latter
phenomenon can be observed particularly clearly in the case of the 'combat
units' of the Russian Socialist-Revolutionary Party, which in the end got quite
out of control, simply perpetuating themselves while no longer possessing any
concrete political objectives. 7
To the degree that the chances of such movements achieving their goals
become less and the repressive machinery of the forces of order pushes them
underground, the ruthlessness of their acts of terror tends to increase. Such
acts also become more desperate and hence more incalculable until in the end
terrorism loses its character as a means to effect whatever social change it
aspires to and instead becomes merely the means to reaffirm the faith in the
justification of its own cause. What tends to get lost at the same time is the
capacity to calculate the use of violence rationally, that is, the capacity to
assess the optimal chances of achieving the desired objectives by a 'measured'
use of violence; this in turn usually results in operating methods becoming
more and more brutalised.
Thus it is not surprising that terrorist groups -particularly if they employ
methods of individual terror- usually develop quasi-religious behaviour
patterns and, in their internal structure and ethics, often resemble extreme
religious sects. One of the most striking traits of such terrorist movements is
the enormously stringent cohesive force of their own 'moral' norms within
their own closed circles. Already Bakunin's secret societies, designed as the
mainstay of anarchist doctrine, had the task, amongst other things, of
ensuring strict ideological control over group members. Under modern
conditions, too, numerous instances of this phenomenon, the enormous moral
cohesion of terrorist groups, spring to mind. Andreas Baader and Gudrun
Ensslin, even from their prison cells, were able not only to issue detailed
instructions to their followers but to induce fellow prisoners to commit
suicide. The American heiress, Patricia Hearst, after some weeks' exposure to
the tremendously suggestive power of a terrorist group's ideology, articulated
in high moral terms, was turned, not altogether surprisingly, from a victim of a
kidnapping into an accomplice of her captors.
This of course is also to be explained by the external circumstances in which
such groups live. Persecution by the State increasingly forces them to change
their previous lifestyle and to adopt a strictly clandestine mode oflife, with less
and less chance of maintaining any close contact with the world around them
or indeed of communicating with others on matters of ideology. Michael
393
Baumann has described this process very vividly. 8 Initially, the members of
extremist circles in Berlin and elsewhere drew support from the student
'scene'; but soon they found themselves obliged to live in strictly closed and
isolated circles, where the individual gradually loses the possibility of forming
independent opinions. For, within his circle he is subjected to the constant
pressure of solidarity and exposed to increasing reciprocal affirmation of
those extreme ideological positions which induced him to join a terrorist
group. Under such circumstances, loyalty to the movement's basic principles
is not only required for reasons of his own survival, but also constantly reactivated and intensified, owing to the form communication necessarily takes
within groups that have become thus isolated. The power the group wields
over the individual, once he has become a member, is extreme and by no
means purely physical. In the perspective of this type of group or movement,
participation in violent actions in the end becomes a moral obligation and also
a condition of full recognition as a worthy member of the group.
The ideological patterns and the strategic ground rules described above and
their effect on group psychology can be found in radical movements of quite
disparate persuasions and under very different historical circumstances; they
remain essentially the same, even if there are variations of degree. The
willingness to resort to violence in order to achieve certain political or social
objectives is not the prerogative of specific ideological positions; on the
contrary, all it requires is a great degree of tension between the reality as they
perceive it and the goals they aspire to. This willingness can thus be found on
the fringes of political movements of very different ideological persuasions,
and it is therefore quite inappropriate to ascribe terrorism and strategies of
violence mainly to political ideologies of the Left. History shows how
extraordinarily broad is the spectrum of movements which, even if only for a
short time and often only as a fringe phenomenon, have resorted intermittently to strategies of violence. This is equally true if one confines the
perspective only to the history of Europe since the end of the eighteenth
century, as has been done here. Historic retrospection shows also that both
tactical methods (if we disregard for the moment the effects of technological
progress) and the patterns of ideological justification have structurally
remained largely the same over a period of one and a half centuries, even if the
content of ideological programmes may differ widely. One is tempted almost
to speak of an interchangeability of political contents. This is indirectly
confirmed by the remarkable affinity frequently to be observed between
violent movements of the Right and Left, and between nationalist and
communist movements.
Historically we can distinguish the following types of radical movement
which for a time have regarded, or indeed still regard violence, individual
terrorism and, if need be, systematic guerilla warfare as legitimate weapons in
their fight against the established order: 9
(1) Social protest movements which still operate within the framework of a
394
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
395
discipline, these kinds of aspirations did not disappear entirely, much to theirritation of a party leadership committed to an orthodox marxist strategy- not
even after the expulsion of Johann Most and the so-called Jungen -although
virtually no terrorist actions of any substance were undertaken. 10 The
Russian Bolshevik movement in its early days also employed terrorist tactics;
these however did not really form part of its doctrine but arose out of the
particularly oppressive conditions under which it had to operate in tsarist
Russia.
(4) Anarcho-Syndicalist groups which, by carrying the doctrine of 'direct
action' against the class enemy to the extreme, did not shrink, at least for a
time, from violence against property, mainly in the form of sabotage, and in
some instances not even from violence against individuals, such as unpopular
factory owners. Recourse to violence, however, never played a central role in
these movements, but was as a rule a secondary consequence of extremely
acute conflict or strike situations.
(5) Movements of integral nationalism, which employ violence against
people or property, as well as sabotage and in the last resort individual terror
against an alleged 'internal enemy', with the object of re-establishing
authoritarian forms of rule. Their aims are social-conservative, not socialrevolutionary. The most significant example of this was the radical nationalist
mafia in the Weimar Republic, responsible for a great number of so-called
Feme murders as well as other acts of violence against groups whose political
views were anathema to them.
(6) Fascist movements, which employ the method of systematic terror
mainly against the institutions and members of the parties of the Left, in order
to initiate a process of nationalist regeneration within their country and at the
same time to obtain the greatest possible public response to their own
ideological objectives. The best known of these were the squadri d'azione of
Italian Fascism in the early 1920s. The same traits, comparatively less
developed, although not lagging behind the Italian model in the brutality of
their methods, we find in the special combat gangs established by National
Socialism in the 1920s and early 1930s, with the object of forcibly eliminating
or terrorising political adversaries, while being more or less openly contemptuous of the State's forces oflaw and order. These instances show up with
particular clarity that the cult of violence against dissidents increasingly
became a substitute for coherent political ideology.
(7) As their active heirs must be regarded the neo-fascist groupings which
have recently re-appeared on a broader front, particularly in Italy and West
Germany and to a lesser degree elsewhere. Their aimless acts of indiscriminate violence point to their lack of any clearly defined ideological
conception. Here as elsewhere, it may be said, of course, that the more
nebulous the theoretical orientation of such groups or individual
perpetrators, the more brutal their methods, since violence must evidently
compensate for the lack of proper ideological legitimisation.
396
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
(8) Lastly we have to consider the more recent terrorist movements of the
neo-marxist, or rather pseudo-marxist kind, which have grown out of the
abortive student revolts of the late sixties, particularly the Rote Armee
Fraktion and its successor organisations in Germany, the brigate rosse in Italy
and similar, for a while particularly militant, groupings in Japan. They see
themselves as guardians of the socialist idea, in contrast to the congealed
bureaucratic Socialism behind the Iron Curtain and to what is called the
'social Fascism' of democratic socialist parties in the West, defining themselves at the same time as fundamentally anti-imperialist. The RAF, in particular,
regarded itself as the extended arm of the Third World's liberation movements
and intended to strike a blow at imperialism in its metropolitan centres by
demonstrative acts of violence against multinational companies and their
political dogsbodies and, in the last analysis, even against the West German
State. It was not by accident that the Vietnam war triggered off the rise of this
type of movement.
In a certain sense such movements can be interpreted as a rebounding of
terrorist tendencies from the periphery to the metropolitan centres. Carlos
Marighella's Handbook of Urban Guerilla Warfare 11 exerted a significant
influence on the Rote Armee Fraktion tactics. In their ideological perception
of themselves, the RAF conducted a 'proxy' war which was initially
directed mainly at US installations in Germany, as well as against large
industrial companies. In the face of effective counter-measures on the part of
the police forces, the RAF was drawn increasingly into directing its attacks
against the authorities of the Federal Republic and the established order. The
brigate rosse's anti-imperialist thrust is comparatively less well developed
since they operate in a relatively much more disrupted society, and one subject
to great social tensions, in a country with underdevelopment at its own front
door everywhere, particularly in the South.
All these movements regard themselves as the vanguard of the coming
socialist revolution; but as such they must first destroy the barnacled social
structures and the system of government by individual terror and guerilla
methods modelled on Latin American urban guerillas, before the ardently
desired process of solidarisation with the broad mass of the workers can come
about, for allegedly the latter are at present unconsciously caught in a system
of Konsumterror and adaptive socialisation, and thus in no condition to stand
up for their own 'class interests'.
At the same time the ideological assaults on imperialism and neocolonialism serve to make more credible their attack on their own bourgeois
democratic societies, with their high living standards and comparatively stable
structures. It allows them to level direct accusations at the capitalist
bourgeoisie at home for the backward conditions in Third World countries,
and thus to discredit the 'affiuent society', insofar as it exists, as massively
inequitable and thriving at the expense of others. If we leave to one side for a
moment the anti-imperialist arguments in the neo-marxist movements'
397
ideological arsenal, which in any case are an indifferent rehash of current afromarxist theories on underdevelopment, 12 we see that their strategic methods
and aims all conform to familiar historic patterns. The RA.F 'urban guerillas'
first quasi-official manifesto of 1971 13 was published at a time when its acts of
terror had not yet reached their greatest degree of brutality. It combined the
traditional strategic arguments which the terrorist wing of classical Anarchism
put forward a century before with massive polemics against imperialism, as the
form of social organisation allegedly responsible both for the moral paucity
of metropolitan societies and for the misery at the periphery. Apart from that,
the arguments nowhere go beyond the classical postulation of terrorist theory
in its anarchist variety; virtually all the latter's basic tenets are taken up again,
essentially unchanged, above all the absolute primacy of practice over theory.
It is only by violent action, so the argument runs, that one can establish
whether a society is ripe for revolution, and action alone determines the nature
of the future society: 'Without putting it into practice, reading Das Kapital is
nothing but middle-class study. Without putting them into practice, programmatic declarations are nothing but twaddle .. .' 14 Equally, we find the
classical formula of'propaganda by deed' in only slightly modified form. Only
by armed struggle can agitation by the Left be 'made concrete'. 15 The primary
object would have to be 'to destroy the apparatus of government at certain
points, to put it partially out of action and thus to do away with the myth of
the system's omnipresence and invulnerability', 16 a formulation that might
almost be taken as a paraphrase of the relevant recommendations in
Nechaev's 'Catechism of a Revolutionary' of 1869.
These postulates conform to a familiar pattern of argumentation which
terrorist groups, be they left or right, had already developed in the nineteenth
century. It cannot have been altogether accidental that Bakunin's works were
among the first texts which the Berlin nucleus of what was to become the
terrorist group Bewegung 2. Juni published in a pirated edition. 17 The only
original element in the ideology of these neo-marxist groups is indeed their
identification with the aims of Third World anti-imperialist liberation
movements; this makes moral condemnation of the conditions in the
democratic industrialised societies of the West that much easier and also
strikes at a vulnerable point in the West's ideological armour.
It is true that this ideological orientation- which these groups regard as
consistently anti-imperialist- has brought one significant consequence: it has
facilitated international co-operation between terrorist groups of various
countries. In the 1970s Yassir Arafat's PLO played an important role in
this connection and established some sort of key position for itself
within an informal kind of terrorist International, mainly as the result of
providing various forms of assistance, especially in the training of terrorists.
The RAF, in particular, for some time massively identified itself with the
Palestinian cause and, as a by-product, become a prey to a new variant of
anti-semitism, again with that myopia, when it comes to historical perspective,
398
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
which terrorist movements are generally prone to. It is particularly ironic that,
on this point, pseudo-marxist and neo-fascist movements touch, even though
they are bitterly opposed to each other on every other issue.
The universal revival of those forms of political conflict which take recourse
to non-legal methods of violence, even in situations which cannot by any
means be called pre-revolutionary, naturally poses the question of how this
development came about. It would seem natural to connect the emergence of
this type of movement with structural deficiencies in a given society, with mass
poverty or other social problems, or with uncommonly repressive political
conditions. Currently we can observe a tendency to deny such a connection
and to seek the causes of illegal violence, from 'limited infractions of the rules'
of a purely demonstrative kind via individual terror to full-blown guerilla
warfare, mainly in factors which are only indirectly determined by the
established social order and not at all by any serious deficiencies it may have.
Instead analyses in terms of individual psychology, focusing on disorders of
the individual's personality structure, are particularly popular. There is also a
tendency to explain such phenomena simply in terms of the ruthless
propaganda of violence put about by a small group of irresponsible
intellectuals; this, ever since Metternich's days, has been the commonest
explanation of politically deviant behaviour. More significant, I think, are
approaches that focus on the problem of deficiencies in bringing up the
younger generation. 18 Apart from that we find a widespread tendency to
explain terrorist movements in terms of particular political circumstances.
Jillian Becker, for instance, has developed the interesting, albeit hardly
tenable, thesis that the Baader-Meinhof movement as well as comparable ones
in Italy and Japan basically constitute a residual form of a fascist political
mentality. 19
A retrospective view, such as has been sketched out here, demonstrates,
however, that these arguments do not suffice to provide an adequate explanation of the phenomenon of unlawful violence. It would be less than
thorough to leave out of account the objective historical factors that may have
triggered ofT these movements in individual instances; only in situations of
political and social conflict or in periods of change in the climate of thought do
movements of this kind find the social breeding ground they need in order to
operate with any degree of success. And the most effective method of fighting
terrorism is still to deprive it of its sympathisers. None of the forms of
terrorism or non-legal violence known to history, can be traced back
immediately and exclusively to the fact that the political system that was being
challenged was blatantly unjust or lacked legitimacy in the eyes of its citizens.
Not even in the case of Narodnaya Volya and the Socialist Revolutionaries in
tsarist Russia can this be said without qualification. After all, there have been
societies and periods in history, when no, or hardly any, terrorist violence
occurred, even though the conditions were such that it could have been
expected. Conversely, such activities have existed, and still do, in societies
which can claim a high degree of consensus as to their legitimacy on the part of
399
their citizens and nevertheless - or perhaps because of it - have been challenged by terrorist groups. Irrespective of this, it is impossible to establish a
direct correlation between social tensions of whatever sort and the emergence
of terrorist violence, for as a rule terrorist groups are very small indeed and
cannot be considered truly representative of those groups, strata or classes
that consider themselves to be deprived of legitimate rights and therefore
oppose the system, for all they may, and often do, claim this to be the case.
One must concede, on the other hand, that in potentially revolutionary
situations terrorist activities can indeed turn into revolutionary struggle, as
has been shown most notably by events in Iran since 1979. Yet it seems to be
characteristic that recourse to strategies of non-legal violence in effect only
happens when the prospect of getting rid of an existing political system by
revolution either does not exist at all, at least in the short term, or is extremely
unlikely.
If we look back on the known, extremely disparate historical instances
where strategies of non-legal violence were employed, we tend to find that
recourse to violence against a particular political or economic system and its
representatives was taken only rarely with the a priori expectation of being
able to provide the spark that would ignite a revolutionary development, of
the kind Sorel expected from his idealised vision of a violent general strike
by 'producers' (i.e. workers and employees). 20 Violent action, be it against
property or people, was as a rule intended much more as a signal whereby the
rulers were to be recalled to reason, or the masses to be enlightened as to
the regime's manifestly unjust character. In the older movements of social
protest, in particular, limited violence was first and foremost a means to
reinforce certain material demands made by the social groups concerned; in
other cases it was a question of symbolically destroying all those things which
appeared to be the emblem of unlawful exploitation, such as tax lists, lists of
services to be rendered to landlords without pay, and the like, on occasion also
the barns or the manor house of a hated landowner. Very often we encounter
purely symbolic acts by individuals, devoid of any connection with an
organised movement, and thus largely of a spontaneous nature, such as van
der Lubbe's setting fire to the Charlottenburg Schloss and the Reichstag in
February 1933.
In other historical examples terror very often did not get beyond the level of
'an eye for an eye', that is to say, fringe groups responding to the sentencing or
execution of one of their colleagues by deliberate attempts on the lives of
prominent politicians and more frequently officials, judges or the representatives of the forces of order who had been directly involved in the prosecution
proceedings, as in the case of the Spanish pistoleros during and after the First
World War. 21 The model character of spectacular actions of this sort is also
an important consideration: very frequently spontaneous follow-up actions
occurred, undertaken by individuals or groups; and as a rule acts of
'individual terror' occurred in series that came and went over periods often or
fifteen years, only to flare up again suddenly. It was often only the counter-
400
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
401
402
Wolfgang J. Mommsen
NOTES
1. Cf F. R. Allemann, 'Terrorismus in Lateinamerika- Motive und Erscheinungsformen' in Manfred Funke (ed.), Terrorismus: Untersuchungen zur
Struktur und Strategie revolutioniirer Gewaltpolitik (Dusseldorf, 1977) p. 178fT.
2. Cf. J. Gerassi (ed.), Vinceremos! The Speeches and Writings ofChe Guevara (New
York, 1968) p. 126.
3. For a comprehensive, albeit purely factual, survey see L.A. Sobel (ed.), Political
Terrorism, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1975, 1978).
4. Interestingly enough, this aspect has recently been taken up by Rudolf Bahro,
who based on it an alternative theory for democratic Socialism.
5. Letter by Robert Michels of 12/5/1909, Michels Papers, Fondazione Luigi
Einaudi, Turin.
6. Sergei Nechaev's Catechism is reprinted in W. Laqueur (ed.), The Terrorism
Reader: A Historical Anthology (London, 1979). On page 71 it says: 'in the first
instance all those must be annihilated who are especially harmful to the
revolutionary organisation, and whose sudden and violent deaths will also inspire
the greatest fear in the government and, by depriving it of its cleverest and most
energetic figures, will shatter its strength.'
7. Cf. M. Hildermeier, 'Zur Sozialstruktur der Fiihrungsgruppen und zur terroristischen Kampfmethode der Sozialrevolutionaren Partei Russlands vor
1917', Jahrbuchftir die Geschichte Osteuropas, 20 (1972), p. 545f.
8. Cf. M. ('Bommi') Baumann, Wie alles an.fing (Frankfurt, 1977) esp. p. 97fT.
9. Cf. on this W. Laqueur, Terrorismus (Kronberg/Taunus, 1977) p. 131fT. We are
indebted to Laqueur for some important ideas, but are bound to differ
considerably with his views, in that we think it necessary to establish a much more
highly differentiated pattern for the various forms of violence than the one on
which he has based his very valuable study.
10. For more detailed evidence see A. R. Carlson, Anarchism in Germany, vol. 1, The
Early Movement (Metuchen/N. J., 1972) p. 173fT.
11. Minimanual do guerrilheiro urbano, the English version: Mini Manual of the
Urban Guerrilla (London, 1971).
12. A survey in W. J. Mommsen, lmperialismustheorien 2nd edn (Gottingen, 1974)
p. 9lf.
13. A. Schubert, Stadtguerilla. Tupamaros in Uruguay- Rote Armee Fraktion in der
BRD (Wagenbach, 1971).
14. Ibid., p. 115.
15. Ibid., p. 117.
16. Ibid., p. 118.
403
Index
Adler, Friedrich 2
Aiken, Frank 166, 167
Akselrod, Pavel B. 58
Albertini, Luigi 261
Albrecht, Prince of Prussia 189
Alexander I, King of Yugoslavia 6
Alexander I, Tsar of Russia 55
Alexander II, Tsar of Russia 4-5, 7,
48-9, 54-5, 185-6, 203
Alexander III, Tsar of Russia 48-9, 55,
58-9
Alfonso XIII, King of Spain 102
Altovsky, A. J. ('Goretsky') 75
Amendola, Giovanni 278
Angiolillo, Michele 102
Anlauf (police officer) 354
Annensky, N. F. 75
Aptekman, 0. V. 53
Aquarone, Alberto 283
Arafat, Yassir 397
Arendt, Hannah 295
Aristotle 368
Arpinati, Leandro 265
Arrivabene, Antonio 266
Azef, Evno 65-7, 69, 83-4
Baader, Andreas 392
Bacon, Thomas 21
Baden, Grand Duchess of (Luise of
Prussia) 178
Baden, Grand Duke of (Friedrich I)
189
Baird, James 21
Bakh, N. A. 57
Bakunin, Michael 5, 50, 58, 88-9, 99,
202-5,213,215-16,218,390,392 ,397
Balbo, ltalo 269
Balmashev, Stepan 65
Baran, Paul A. 119
Barbiellini-Amidei 266, 269
Barker, Harley Grenville 330
Barry, Kevin 163
Barthou, Louis 6
405
406
Index
Delacroix, Eugene 5
Dencas, Jose 115
Dentler, Paul 179
De Rosa, G. 282, 286
Deschner (German anarchist) l99n
Deutsch, Julius 316
De Valera, Eamon 157, 160-l, 164-8,
170-l, l73n, l74n
Diaz, Armando 264
Diaz del Moral, Juan 94, 96
Diehl, James M. 333
Dillon, John 159
Disraeli, Benjamin (Earl of Beaconsfield) 48, 331
Dobrolyubov, N. A. 50
DollfuB, Engelbert 308, 316-17, 326n
Dulebov, Egor 65
Durkheim, Emile 5
Eckermann (Navy Leutnant) 334
Eckstein, Harry 277
Ehrhardt, Hermann 372
Eifler, Alexander 316
Einaudi, Luigi 261
Elizabeth, Empress of Austria 8
Engel, August 185
Engels, Friedrich 14, 48, l54n, 223
Ensslin, Gudrun 392
Erzberger, Matthias 6, 9
Eugenie, Empress of France 4
Eyck, Erick l97n
Facta, Luigi 285
Fahlbusch, August 334
Fanelli, Guiseppe 88
Fanon, Frantz 403n
Farinacci, Roberto 267
Favre, Jules 4
Fawkes, Guy 3-4
Federzoni, Luigi 286
Felton, John 3
Ferrery Guardia, Francisco 103
Figner, Vera 8, 51, 54, 56, 58
Fleuron, Wilhelm ('Peterson') 200n
Flieg, Leo 357
Ford, Franklin 13-15, 148
Franco y Bahamonde, Francisco 11517, 122-3, 128
Frankel, Leo 178-80, 196n
Franz Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria
394
Fricke, Henry 187, 200n
Index
Friedeberg, Raphael 220
Friedman, Fritz 339
Friedrich Wilhelm, German Crown
Prince 184, 189, 200n
Fritzsche, Friedrich W. 182, 197n
Frolenko, M. F. 60
Fuhrmann, Karl 337-8
Giidicke (private) 337
Gaggiolo, Olao 264-5
Gambino, A. 292
Garfield, James A. 56, 82
Garibaldi, Giuseppe 388, 394
George IV, King of England 34
Gershuni, G. A. 65
Gessler, Otto 334
Geyer, Florian 209
Giolitti, Giovanni 260, 282
Girard, Henri 213
Goebbels, Josef 356, 373, 376
Goerdeler, Carl 2
Goering, Hermann 371
Goldenberg, G. D. 56
Gordon, Lord 2
Gorz, Andre 118
Gots, M. R. 63
Gottschalk (police inspector) 191
Gramsci, Antonio 221, 276-7
Griffuelhes, Victor 249
Grimm, Friedrich 334, 338-9
Groener, Wilhelm 355
Groschke, Paul 337
Gross, Feliks 139
Grzesinski, Albert 377
Guardi, D. 279
Guerin, Daniel 220- 1
Guesde, Jules 207, 248
Guevara, Che 386
Guillaume, James 178, 204
Gustaf III, King of Sweden 5-6
Habermas, Jiirgen 387
Hacker, Friedrich J. 368
Hake, Gustav von 187
Hammerstein-Equord, Kurt Freiherr
von 334
Hardie, Andrew 21
Harragan, J. 221
Hasenclever, Wilhelm 181
Haughey, Charles 172, 174n
Haupt, Christian 187
Hayes, Stephen 171
407
408
Index
Index
Nerni, P. 278
Nettlau, Max 205-6, 210, 213, 216,
218, 221
Neumann, Heinz 356-7, 363n
Neumann, Oskar 189
Neve, John 187, 191-2
Nicholas I, Tsar of Russia 49
Nietzsche, Friedrich 103, 208, 282
Nobiling, Carl 177-84, 188, 194, l95n,
l96n, l97n, 211
Nolte, Ernst 276
Obolensky, Prince E. P. 65
O'Brien, Connor Cruise l73n
0 Broin, Leon 143
O'Connell, Daniel 138, 140, 145
O'Connell, David 172
O'Connor, T. P. 160
O'Donnell, Peadar 165, 168
O'Higgins, Kevin 166
Ojetti, Ugo 286
O'Malley, Ernie 163
Oppen, Wilhelm van 338
Orgill, Simon (Co.) 26
Orleans, Fran~;ois Duke of 3
Orsini, Felice 2, 4-5
Orwell, George 379
Oshanina, Marija N. 58
Osinsky, V. A. 51-3
Oswald, Lee Harvey 3
Otter, Victor l98n
Pais, Sidonio 7
Pallas, Paulino 102
Palm, Carl Rudolf 190-l, 200n
Pannier, Erich 335-6
Papini, Giovanni 277, 285
Pareto, Vilfredo 250, 253, 260
Parsons, Talcott 322
Pasella, Umberto 265
Paul (police inspector) 186
Payne, Stanley, G. ll7
Pearse, Padraig H. 156-7, 159-60, 164,
172
Pellicer, Farga 99
Pelloutier, Fernand 213, 215, 219, 248
Pelloutier, Maurice 248
Perceval, Spencer 3, lin
Perez del Alamo, Ramon 96, II On
Perovskaya, S. L. 58
Pertur(i.e. Eduardo Ma. Moreno) 133n
Peshekhonov, A. V. 75
409
Petkov, Petko 6
Peukert, Josef 187
Pfeffer von Salomon, Franz 371-2,378
Pfrinier, Walter 318
Pieck, Wilhelm 355
Pinday, Louis 178, l96n
Pipes, Richard 57
Pisarev, D. I. 50
Pitt-Rivers, Julian A. 96
Pius IX, Pope 3
Plehve, V. K. 63, 66, 69, 84
Plekhanov, Georgi V. 48, 51, 53, 56,
58-9
Pobedonoscev, K. P. 49, 55
Pokrovsky, M. N. 53
Pombal, Sebasti4o Jose Marquiz de 4
Popko, G. A. 52
Pouget, Emile 249
Power, Alfred 22
Prat (Spanish anarchist) 103
Pratolini, Vasco 269
Prezzolino, Giuseppe 286
Primo de Rivera, Miguel 115, ll7
Prin~ip, Gavrilo 394
Proudhon, Pierre Joseph 59, 205, 216,
251
Pugachev, E. 2, 70
Puttkamer, Robert von 185, 187, 190
Rachmetov (Russian revolutionary) 50
Rakitnikov, I. I. ('Bazarov') 71
Rakoczy, Prince Franz II 2
Rath, U. 224-5
Ravachol, Fran~;ois-Claudins 215
Ravaillac, Fran~;ois 3
Ray, C. and J. (Co.) 26
Razin, Stepan T. 70
Read, Donald 20
Redmond, John 158, 161
Reinsdorf, Friedrich August 175-9,
181,183-5,189-91, l96n,200n,209l0
Remmele, Hermann 357
Renner, Karl 316
Ricci, Renato 268
Richards, E. S. 23-4
Rinke, Erich Otto ('Otto Rau') 175-7,
179-80
Rintelen, Anton 318
Rocker, Rudolf 201,215, 220-l, 223-4
Roehm, Ernst 371
Rogachev, D. M. 51
410
Index
197n
Index
Vaillant, Auguste 6
Valiani, Leo 296
Valuyev, P. A. 52
Vecchi, Ferruccio 264
Verger (French priest) 3
Vico Giabattista 250
Vinas, Garcia 99
Vivarelli, Roberto 272
Volkmann, Heinrich 32
Weber, Max 387, 390
Weidenmiiller, Wilhelm 191
Weiss (police agent) 186
Weller (Detective Superintendent) 186
Wellington, Arthur Wellesley Duke
of 21
Werner, Emil 175-80, l95n
Wessel, Horst 376, 379
Wichmann, Wilhelm 185-6, l98n
Wilhelm (the 'Red Prince') 189
William (Wilhelm) I, German Kaiser 6,
411